
■L4. 



Book 



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COPYRIGHT DEPOSfT. 



LALLA ROOKH ^T" 



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LALLA 
ROOKH 

^u ©ricntal lL^olnallrc 



THOMAS MOORE 




BOSTON 
DANA ESTES & COMPANY 

1S99 



131(111 MIMIi^li^ 

N0V2?,1BPP 

Rffftfir of Copyrights^ 






47653 

Cofyrigfif. 1SS4 
V>\ ESTES AM) LaURIAT 

Copyright. i8gg 
1)Y Dana Esies t\: Co. 



SECOND COPY* 

Colonial ^3rrgs: 

Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co. 

Boston, Mass., U. S. A. 







CONTENTS 



(5i. 



/ / ./\ 



or 






Ki-lOr^AliSAM 

Cand THE p^l^tll 
T H £ 

■ Ljqht '^^ -^HE J-Jarejvj 



' -^ ^ 'I 



a 




moore's house, in which lalla rookh was written. 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 









page 


Lalla Rookh 


E. H. Garrett 


Frontispiece 


L'Avenir .... 


Hy. Sandham 




. Title 


Vignette .... 


B. Irwin 




Contents 


Moore's House 


F. T. Merrill 




ix 


Aurungzebe and Abdalla 


/. Wells Champ ney 


I 


In Freedom .... 


Robert Blum 




4 


In Captivity .... 


Robert Bhim 




6 


'' Held in his hand a kitar " . 


J. Wells Champ 11 ey 


8 


Sub-title .... 


J. A. Fraser 




II 


The Great Mokanna . 


Hy Sandham 


. 


14 


" Yon warrior youth " . 


Hy. Sandham 




i6 


" And captive to the Greek " 


Hy. Sandhatn 




• 17 



IX 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 



" When down the mount he trod " 

" One among those chosen maids " 

" In widowhood of soul " 

" Azim is dead ! " . 

*' 'Twas from a brilHant banquet " 

" To the dim charnel-house " 

" To meet Mokanna at his place 
of prayer " . . . . 

" Upon his couch Mokanna lay " . 

" Oh, my lost soul ! " . 

" Nightly my Genii come and fill 
these urns " . 

" With lips apart "... 

" Beware, young raving thing ! " . 

Still Life 

" He raised his veil " . 

" Young Azim roams bewilder'd " 

Lanterns ..... 

" A group of female forms ad- 
vance " . 

" Touch'd a preluding strain " 

" A spirit there is, whose fragrant 
sigh" 

" Impatient of a scene " 

" Unconsciously he opes his arms " 

" Look up, my Zelica ! " 

" Hist ! come near "... 

Persian Tile 

" Whose are the gilded tents ? " . 

" Who leads this mighty army ? " 

" Such was the wild and miscella- 
neous host ! " 

" On, Swords of God ! " 

" But safe as yet that spirit of evil 
lives " . 

" Of all his haram " . ... 

Belt and Sword .... 



//y. ScDidham 


PACK 
21 


Hy. Sandhavi 


22 


Frank Myrick 


• 25 


Frank My rick 


. 29 


W. L. Taylor . 


• 32 


W. L. Taylor . 


• zz 


S. G. McCutcheon 


■ 36 


S. G. McCictcheon 


• 38 


S. G. McCntcheon 


. 41 


W. L. Taylor . 


• 43 


Walter Satterlee . 


. 46. 


Walter Satterlee . 


• 47 


W. L. Taylor . 


• 50 


Hy. Sandha7n 


.- 52 


F. T. Merrill 


. 56- 


J. A. Fraser 


• 59' 


Hy. Sandham 


• 63. 


F. T. Merrill 


• 65 


Walter Satterlee . 


. 68 


Walter Satterlee . 


• 70 


Hy. Sandham 


• n 


Hy. Sandham 


• 7S 


Hy. Sandham 


. 78 


W. L. Taylor . 


. 82 


E. H. Garrett . 


. 86 


E. H. Garrett . 


• 87 


W. St. J. Harper 


• 90 


W. St. J. Harper 


• 91 


W. St. J. Harper 


• 95 


W. St. J. Harper 


. 99 


W. L. Taylor . 


. 103. 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 



Group of Armour .... 
" 'Twas more than midnight now " 
" What a sight was there before 


W. L. Taylor . 
W. L. Sheppard . 


PAGE 
. 104 

. 108 


her!" 

Decorative Border 


W. L. Sheppard . 
W. L. Taylor . 


. 109 


" And Zelica was left " . 


W. L. Taylor . 


. 114 


" One morn a Peri at the gate " . 
" Fleeter than the starry brands " 
" Swiftly descending on a ray " . 
" And sleek'd her plumage at the 


Kenyan Cox 
Kenyan Cox 
Kenyan Cox 


• 1^5 

. 127 


fountain " . . . . 


Kejiyon Cox 


. 132 


" Poor race of men " . 

"She, who would rather die with 


Kenyan Cox 


• 135 


him" 

" The bright spirit at the gate 
smiled " . 


Kenyan Cox 
Kenyan Cox 


■ 139 


" Watching the rosy infants play " 
" The ruin'd maid, the shrine pro- 


Kenyan Cox 


• 144 


faned " . 
" Bidding the bright-eyed sun fare- 
well" 


Kenyan Cox 

F. T. Merrill . 


• 145 
. 156 


"One who will pause and kneel 






unshod " . . . . 


F. T Merrill 


. 158 


" 'Tis she, the Emir's blooming 
child" 


F. T Merrill . 


. 160 


" Beautiful are the maids that 






glide" 


F. T Merrill . 


. 161 


" I never nursed a dear gazelle " . 


F. S. Church 


. 168 


" I take him cool sherbets and 






flowers " .... 


F. T Merrill . 


. 170 


" I am of that impious race " 


F. 7. Merrill . 


. 171 


" My signal lights ! — I must 

away " 

" Again she sees his pinnace fly " 

Architecture 

Architecture ..... 
" Of sainted cedars on its banks " 


W. St. J. Harper 
W. St. J. Harper 
Frank Myrick 
Frank Myrick 
J. A. Fraser 


• 174 
. 176 
. 178 

• 179 
. 185 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 



" A rocky mountain o'er the sea 
" A deep and wizard glen " . 
^'The Persian lily shines and 

towers " . 
" She fancied she was sailing " 
*' Sleeps the grim wave " 
" Once more to see her dea 

gazelles "... 
" She sits all lovely in her gloom 
" The stilly hours when storms are 

gone " . 
" A group of warriors in the sun " 
" Uplifted by the warrior throng " 
■" But vainly did those glories 

burst" .... 
^' The warriors shout that dreadful 

name " 

" The mighty ruins where they 

stood" .... 
^* A ponderous sea-horn hung" 
■"As their coursers charged the 

wind " . 
^' No pearl ever lay under Oman's 

green water" 
•*' They'll w^eep for the maiden who 

sleeps in this wave " 
" In this delightful solitude " 
The Light of the Harem 
^' Like broken clouds " . 
■*'■ O you that have the charge of 

love" .... 
"" He wanders joyless and alone " 
■" New-blown lilies of the river" 
" No sooner was the flowery 

crown " . 
"And hourly she renews the lay' 
■** When the first star of evening ' 



W. J. Mozart 
W.J. Mozart 

J. A. Fraser 
J. A. Fraser 
W. J. Mozart 

F. L. Weeks 

E. L. Weeks 

W. J. Mozart 
Walter Satterlee 
Walter Satterlee 

G. R. Barse 
G. R. Barse 

W. L. Taylor 

F. H. Lttngren 

F. H. Limgren 

W. L. Taylor 

W. L. Taylor 
J. A. Fraser 
W. H. Low . 
W. H. Low . 

W. II. Low . 
W. H. Lozv . 
W. H. Low . 

W. II. Low . 
W. H. Low . 
W. H. Low . 



'AGE 

i88 
189 



19: 



199 



207 
212 
213 



223 

226 
234 

235 
249 

251 

254 
256 
263 

265 
268 
269 

273 
277 
278 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 



" A mask that leaves but one 


eye 






free " . . . • 




IV. H. Low . 


■ 279 


" As bards have seen him " . 




W. //. Loiv . 


. 282 


''Remember, love, the Feast 


of 






Roses" .... 




IV. H. Low . 


. 289 


Ascending the Mountains 




J. A. Fraser 


. 290 


The Illumination . 




J. W. Champney . 


. 292 


L'Envoi .... 


. 


G. R. Barse 


. 297 




IN the eleventh year of the reign of 
Aurungzebe, Abdalla, King of the 
Lesser Bucharia, a Hneal descendant 
from the Great Zingis, having abdi- 




2 LALLA ROOKH. 

cated the throne in favour of his son, set out on a pil- 
grimage to the Shrine of the Prophet, and, passing 
into India through the delightful valley of Cashmere, 
rested for a short time at Delhi on his way. He 
was entertained by Aurungzebe in a style of mag- 
nificent hospitality, worthy alike of the visitor and 
the host, and was afterward escorted with the same 
splendour to Surat, where he embarked for Arabia. 
During the stay of the Royal Pilgrim at Delhi, a 
marriage was agreed upon between the Prince, his 
son, and the youngest daughter of the Emperor, 
Lalla Rookh, — a princess described by the poets of 
her time as more beautiful than Leila, Shirine, De- 
wilde, or any of those heroines whose names and loves 
embellish the songs of Persia and Hindostan. It was 
intended that the nuptials should be celebrated at 
Cashmere; where the young King, as soon as the 
cares of empire would permit, was to meet, for the first 
time, his lovely bride, and, after a few months' repose 
in that enchanting valley, conduct her over the snowy 
hills into Bucharia. 

The day of Lalla Rookh 's departure from Delhi was 
as splendid as sunshine and pageantry could make it. 
The bazaars and baths were all covered with the rich- 
est tapestry ; hundreds of gilded barges upon the 
Jumna floated with their banners shining in the water ; 
while through the streets troops of beautiful children 
went strewing the most delicious flowers around, as in 
that Persian festival called the Scattering of the Roses, 
till every part of the city was as fragrant as if a cara- 
van of musk from Khoten had passed through it. The 



LALLA ROOKH. 5 

Princess, having taken leave of her kind father, who at 
parting hung a carneUan of Yemen around her neck, 
on which was inscribed a verse from the Koran, and 
having sent a considerable present to the P'akirs, who 
kept up the Perpetual Lamp in her sister's tomb, 
meekly ascended the palankeen prepared for her ; and 
while Aurungzebe stood to take a last look from his 
balcony, the procession moved slowly on the road to 
Lahore. 

Seldom had the Eastern World seen a cavalcade so 
superb. From the gardens in the suburbs to the 
imperial palace, it was one unbroken line of splendour. 
The gallant appearance of the Rajas and Mogul lords^ 
distinguished by those insignia of the Emperor's favour, 
the feathers of the egret of Cashmere in their turbans 
and the small silver-rimmed kettle-drums at the bows 
of their saddles ; the costly armour of their cavaliers, 
who vied, on this occasion, with the guards of the 
great Kedar Khan, in the brightness of their silver 
battle-axes and the massiveness of their maces of gold ; 
the glittering of the gilt pineapples on the tops of the 
palankeens ; the embroidered trappings of the ele- 
phants, bearing on their backs small turrets, in the 
shape of little antique temples, within which the ladies 
of Lalla Rookh lay, as it were, enshrined ; the rose- 
coloured veils of the Princess's own sumptuous litter, 
at the front of which a fair young female slave sat 
fanning her through the curtains, with feathers of the 
Argus pheasant's wing ; and the lovely troop of Tar- 
tarian and Cashmerian maids of honour, whom the 
young King had sent to accompany his bride, and 



LALLA ROOKH. 




\4V 



fcX^. 



who rode on each side 
of the litter, upon small 
Arabian horses ; — all was 
brilliant, tasteful, and mag- 
nificent, and pleased even 
the critical and fastidious 
Fadladeen, Great Nazir or 
Chamberlain of the Haram, 
who was borne in his pal- 
ankeen immediately after 
the Princess, and con- 
sidered himself not the 
least important personage 
of the pageant. 

Fadladeen was a judge of 
everything, — from the pen- 
cilling of a Circassian's eye- 
lids to the deepest questions 
of science and literature, 
from the mixture of a con- 
serve of rose-leaves to the 



LALLA ROOKH. 



composition of an epic poem ; and such influence had 
his opinion upon the various tastes of the day, that 
all the cooks and poets of Delhi stood in awe of 
him. His political conduct and opinions were founded 
upon that line of Sadi : "Should the Prince at noon- 
day say, ' It is night,' declare that you behold the moon 
and stars." And his zeal for religion, of which Au- 
rungzebe was a munificent protector, was about as 
disinterested as that of the goldsmith who fell in love 
with the diamond eyes of the idol of Jaghernaut. 

During the first days of their journey, Lalla Rookh, 
Avho had passed all her life within the shadow of the 
royal Gardens of Delhi, found enough in the beauty of 
the scenery through which they passed to interest her 
mind and delight her imagination ; and when, at even- 
ing or in the heat of the day, they turned off from the 
high-road to those retired and romantic places which 
had been selected for her encampments, — sometimes 
on the banks of a small rivulet, as clear as the waters 
■of the Lake of Pearl ; sometimes under the sacred 
shade of a banyan-tree, from which the view opened 
upon a glade covered with antelopes ; and often in 
those hidden, embowered spots, described by one from 
the Isles of the West, as " places of melancholy, de- 
light, and safety, where all the company around was 
wild peacocks and turtle-doves," — she felt a charm in 
these scenes, so lovely and so new to her, which for 
a time made her indifferent to every other amusement. 
But Lalla Rookh was young, and the young love vari- 
ety ; nor could the conversation of her Ladies and the 
^Great Chamberlain, Fadladeen (the only persons, of 



LALLA ROOKH. 



course, admitted to her pavilion), sufficiently enliven 
those many vacant hours which were devoted neither 
to the pillow nor the palankeen. There was a little 
Persian slave who sung sweetly to the Vina, and who 
now and then lulled the Princess to sleep with the 
ancient ditties of her country, about the loves of 
Wamak and Ezra, the fair-haired Zal and his mistress 
Rodahver, not forgetting the combat of Rustam with 
the terrible White Demon. At other times she was 
amused by those graceful dancing-girls of Delhi, who 
had been permitted by the Brahmins of the Great 
Pagoda to attend her, much to the horror of the good 
Mussulman Fadladeen, who could see nothing graceful 
or agreeable in idolaters, and to whom the very tink- 
ling of their golden anklets was an abomination. 

But these and many other diver- 
sions were repeated till they 
lost all their charm, and 




LALLA ROOKH. 7 

the nights and noondays were beginning to move 
heavily, when at length it was recollected that, among 
the attendants sent by the bridegroom, was a young 
poet of Cashmere, much celebrated throughout the val- 
ley for his manner of reciting the stories of the East 
on whom his Royal Master had conferred the privi- 
lege of being admitted to the pavilion of the Prin- 
cess, that he might help to beguile the tediousness of 
the journey by some of his most agreeable recitals. 
At the mention of a poet Fadladeen elevated his 
critical eyebrows, and, having refreshed his faculties 
with a dose of that delicious opium which is distilled 
from the black poppy of the Thebais, gave orders 
for the minstrel to be forthwith introduced into the 
presence. 

The Princess, who had once in her life seen a poet 
from behind the screens of gauze in her father's hall^ 
and had conceived from that specimen no very favour- 
able ideas of the Caste, expected but httle in this new 
exhibition to interest her ; she felt inclined, however^ 
to alter her opinion on the very first appearance of 
Feramorz. He was a youth about Lalla Rookh's own 
age, and graceful as that idol of women, Crishna, — 
such as he appears to their young imaginations, heroic, 
beautiful, breathing music from his very eyes, and 
exalting the religion of his worshippers into love. His 
dress was simple, yet not without some marks of 
costliness ; and the Ladies of the Princess were not 
long in discovering that the cloth which encircled his 
high Tartarian cap was of the most delicate kind that 
the shawl-goats of Tibet supply. Here and there, too, 



LALLA ROOKH. 




LALLA ROOKH. 9 

strings of fine pearl, disposed with an air of studied 
negligence ; nor did the exquisite embroidery of his 
sandals escape the observation of these fair critics, 
who, however they might give way to Fadladeen 
upon the unimportant topics of religion and govern- 
ment, had the spirit of martyrs in everything relating 
to such momentous matters as jewels and embroidery. 
For the purpose of relieving the pauses of recitation 
by music, the young Cashmerian held in his hand 
a kitar, — such as, in old times, the Arab maids of 
the West used to listen to by moonlight in the gardens 
of the Alhambra, — and having promised, with much 
humility, that the story he was about to relate was 
founded on the adventures of that Veiled Prophet of 
Khorassan who, in the year of the Hegira 163, created 
such alarm throughout the Eastern Empire, made an 
obeisance to the Princess, and thus began : 



THE 

VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN 

IN that delightful Province of the Sun, 
The first of Persian lands he shines upon, 
Where, all the loveliest children of his beam. 
Flowerets and fruits blush over every stream. 
And, fairest of all streams, the Murga roves 
Among Meron's bright palaces and groves, — 
There, on that throne to which the blind belief 
Of millions raised him, sat the Prophet-Chief, 
The Great Mokanna. O'er his features hung 
The Veil, the Silver Veil, which he had flung 
In mercy there, to hide from mortal sight 
His dazzling brow, till man could bear its light. 
For far less luminous, his votaries said. 
Were e'en the gleams, miraculously shed 
O'er Moussa's cheek, when down the mount he trod,, 
All glowing from the presence of his God ! 

On either side, with ready hearts and hands. 
His chosen guard of bold believers stands, — 
Young fire-eyed disputants, who deem their swords, 
On points of faith, more eloquent than words, — 
And such their zeal, there's not a youth with brand 
Uplifted there, but, at the Chief's command, 
Would make his own devoted heart its sheath. 
And bless the lips that doom'd so dear a death ! 

13 



T4 



LALLA ROOKH. 



In hatred to the caUph's hue of night, 
Their vesture, hehns and all, is snowy white ; 
Their weapons various, — some, equipp'd for speed, 
With javeHns of the light Kathaian reed. 
Or bows of buffalo horn, and shining quivers 
Fill'd with the stems that bloom on Iran's rivers, 
While some, for war's more terrible attacks. 
Wield the huge mace, and ponderous battle-axe ; 
And, as they wave aloft in 

morning's beam 
The milk-white plumage of 

their helms, they seem 
Like a chenar-tree grove 

when winter throws 
O'er all its tufted heads his 

feathering snows. 




LALLA ROOKH. I 5 

Between the porphyry pillars, that uphold 
The rich moresque-work of the roof of gold, 
Aloft the haram's curtain'd galleries rise, 
Where, through the silken network, glancing eyes, 
From time to time, like sudden gleams that glow 
Through autumn clouds, shine o'er the pomp below. — 
What impious tongue, ye blushing saints, \vould dare 
To hint that aught but Heaven hath placed you there ? 
Or that the loves of this light world could bind. 
In their gross chain, your Prophet's soaring mind ? 
No, — wrongful thought ! — commission'd from above 
To people Eden's bowers with shapes of love 
(Creatures so bright, that the same lips and eyes 
They wear on earth will serve in Paradise), 
There to recline among heaven's native maids. 
And crown th' elect with bliss that never fades, — 
Well hath the Prophet-Chief his bidding done ; 
And every beauteous race beneath the sun. 
From those who kneel at Brahma's burning founts, 
To the fresh nymphs bounding o'er Yemen's mounts ; 
From Persia's eyes of full and fawn-like ray, 
To the small, half-shut glances of Kathay ; 
And Georgia's bloom, and Azab's darker smiles, 
And the gold ringlets of the Western Isles, — 
All, all are there ; each land its flower hath given. 
To form that fair young Nursery for Heaven ! 

But why this pageant now ? this arm'd array ? 
What triumph crowds the rich divan to-day 
With turban'd heads, of every hue and race, 
Bowing before that veil'd and awful face, 



i6 



LALLA ROOKH. 



Like tulip-beds of different shape and 
dyes, 

Bending beneath th' invisible west- 
wind's sighs ? 




What new- 
made 

mystery now, ^ 

for Faith to 

sign. 
And blood to seal, as 

genuine and divine ? 
What dazzling mimicry 

of God's own power 
Hath the bold Prophet 

plann'd to grace this hour 
Not such the pageant now, though not. less proud 
Yon warrior youth, advancing from the crowed, 



LALLA ROOKH. 



17 



f^ 



With silver bow, with belt 

of broider'd crape, 
And fur-bound bonnet of 

Bucharian shape, 
So fiercely beautiful in 

form and eye. 
Like war's wild planet in 

a summer sky, — 
That youth to-day — a 

proselyte worth 

hordes 
Of cooler spirits and less 

practised swords — 
Is come to join, all bravery and belief. 
The creed and standard of the heaven-sent Chief. 

Though few his years, the west already knows 
Young Azim's fame ; beyond th' Olympian snows, 
Ere manhood darken'd o'er his downy cheek, 
O'erwhelm'd in fight, and captive to the Greek, 




1 8 LALLA ROOKH. 

He linger'd there, till peace dissolved his chains ; — 
Oh ! who could, e'en in bondage, tread the plains 
Of glorious Greece, nor feel his spirit rise 
Kindling within him ? who, with heart and eyes, 
Could walk where Liberty had been, nor see 
The shining footprints of her Deity, 
Nor feel those god-like breathings in the air, 
Which mutely told her spirit had been there ? 
Not he, that youthful warrior, — no, too well 
For his soul's quiet work'd th' awakening spell ! 
And now, returning to his own dear land. 
Full of those dreams of good that, vainly grand. 
Haunt the young heart, — proud views of human- 
kind, 
Of men to gods exalted and refined ; 
False views, like that horizon's fair deceit. 
Where earth and heaven but seem, alas ! to meet, — 
Soon as he heard an Arm Divine was raised 
To right the nations, and beheld emblazed 
On the white flag Mokanna's host unfurl'd. 
Those words of sunshine, " Freedom to the World,'^ 
At once his faith, his sword, his soul, obey'd 
Th' inspiring summons ; every chosen blade. 
That fought beneath that banner's sacred text, 
Seem'd doubly edged, for this world and the next; 
And ne'er did Faith with her smooth bandage bind 
Eyes more devoutly willing to be blind 
In virtue's cause, never was soul inspired 
With livelier trust in what it most desired. 
Than his, th' enthusiast there, who kneeling, pale 
With pious awe, before that Silver Veil, 



LALLA ROOKH. IQ 

Believes the form to which he bends his knee, 
Some pure, redeeming angel, sent to free 
This fetter'd world from every bond and stain, 
And bring its primal glories back again ! 

Low as young Azim knelt, that motley crowd 
Of all earth's nations sunk the knee and bow'd, 
With shouts of " Alia ! " echoing long and loud ; 
While high in air, above the Prophet's head. 
Hundreds of banners, to the sunbeam spread, 
Waved, like the wings of the white birds that fan 
The flying throne of star-taught S oilman ! 
Then thus he spoke : " Stranger, though new the frame 
Thy soul inhabits now, I've tracked its flame 
For many an age, in every chance and change. 
Of that existence through whose varied range — 
As through a torch-race, where, from hand to hand, 
The flying youths transmit their shining brand — 
From frame to frame th' unextinguish'd soul 
Rapidly passes, till it reach the goal ! 

" Nor think 'tis only the gross spirits, warm'd 
With duskier fire and for earth's medium form'd. 
That run this course ; beings the most divine 
Thus deign through dark mortality to shine. 
Such was the essence that in Adam dwelt. 
To which all heaven, except the Proud One, knelt ; 
Such the refined intelhgence that glow'd 
In Moussa's frame, and, thence descending, flow'd 
Through many a Prophet's breast, — in Issa shone, 
And in Mohammed burn'd, till, hastening on. 



20 LALLA ROOKH. 

(As a bright river that, from fall to fall 

In many a maze descending, bright through all, 

Finds some fair region where, each labyrinth past, 

In one full lake of light it rests at last ! ) 

That Holy Spirit, settling calm and. free 

From lapse or shadow, centres all in me ! " 

Again throughout th' assembly, at these words, 
Thousands of voices rung ; the warriors' swords 
Were pointed up to heaven ; a sudden wind 
In th' open banners play'd, and from behind 
Those Persian hangings, that but ill could screen 
The haram's loveliness, white hands were seen 
Waving embroider'd scarves, whose motion gave 
A perfume forth, — like those the Houris wave, 
When beckoning to their bowers th' Immortal Brave. 

" But these," pursued the Chief, " are truths sublime, 
That claim a holier mood and calmer time 
Than earth allows us now ; this sword must first 
The darkling prison-house of mankind burst, 
Ere peace can visit them, or truth let in 
Her wakening daylight on a world of sin ! 
But then, celestial warriors, then, when all 
Earth's shrines and thrones before our banner fall ; 
When the glad slave shall at these feet lay down 
His broken chain, the tyrant lord his crown. 
The priest his book, the conqueror his wreath, 
And from the lips of Truth one mighty breath 
Shall, like a whirlwind, scatter in its breeze 
That whole dark pile of human mockeries, — 



LALLA ROOKH. 



21 




Then shall the 
reign of Mind 
commence on 
earth, 
And starting 
fresh, as from 
a second birth, 
Man, in the sunshine 
of the world's new 
spring, 

Shall walk 
transparent, 
like some 
holy thing ! 
Then, too, your 
Prophet from his angel brow 
Shall cast the Veil, that hides its splendours now, 
And gladden'd earth shall through her wide ex- 
panse 
Eask in the glories of this countenance ! 



22 



LALLA ROOKH. 




'' For thee, young war- 
rior, welcome ! — /, . . 
thou hast yet 

Some tasks to learn, some frailties to 
forget, 

Ere the white war-plume o'er thy brow can wave ; 

But, once mv own, mine all till in the grrave ! " 



The pomp is at an end, — the crowds are gone, 
Each ear and heart still haunted by the tone 
Of that deep voice, which thrill'd like Alla's own ! 
The young all dazzled by the plumes and lances. 
The glittering throne, and haram's half-caught glances 
The old deep pondering on the promised reign 
Of peace and truth : and all the female train 
Ready to risk their eyes, could they but gaze 
A moment on that brow's miraculous blaze! 



LALLA ROOKH. 23 

But there was one among the chosen maids 
Who blush'd behind the gallery's silken shades, 
One to whose soul the pageant of to-day 
Has been like death ; — you saw her pale dismay, 
Ye wandering sisterhood, and heard the burst 
Of exclamation from her lips, when first 
She saw that youth, too well, too dearly known, 
Silently kneeling at the Prophet's throne. 

Ah, Zelica ! there 2vas a time when bliss 
Shone o'er thy heart from every look of his ; 
When but to see him, hear him, breathe the air 
In which he dwelt, was thy soul's fondest prayer ! 
When round him hung such a perpetual spell, 
Whate'er he did, none ever did so well. 
Too happy days ! when, if he touch'd a flower 
Or gem of thine, 'twas sacred from that hour ; 
When thou didst study him, till every tone 
And gesture and dear look became thy own, — 
Thy voice like his, the changes of his face 
In thine reflected with still lovelier grace, 
Like echo, sending back sweet music, fraught 
With twice th' aerial sweetness it had brought ! 
Yet now he comes, — brighter than even he 
E'er beam'd before, t- but, ah ! not bright for thee : 
No, — dread, unlook'd for, like a visitant 
From th' other world, he comes as if to haunt 
Thy guilty soul with dreams of lost delight, 
Long lost to all but memory's aching sight ; 
Sad dreams ! as when the Spirit of our youth 
Returns in sleep, sparkling with all the truth 



24 LALLA ROOKH. 

And innocence once ours, and leads us back, 
In mournful mockery, o'er the shining track 
Of our young life, and points out every ray 
Of hope and peace we've lost upon the way ! 

Once happy pair ! — in proud Bokhara's groves, 
Who had not heard of their first youthful loves ? 
Born by that ancient flood, which from its spring 
In the Dark Mountains swiftly wandering, 
Enrich'd by every pilgrim brook that shines 
With relics from Bucharia's ruby mines, 
And, lending to the Caspian half its strength. 
In the cold Lake of Eagles sinks at length, — 
There, on the banks of that bright river born. 
The fiowers, that hung above its wave at morn, 
Bless'd not the waters, as they murmur'd by. 
With holier scent and lustre, than the sigh 
And virgin glance of first affection cast 
Upon their youth's smooth current, as it pass'd ! 
But war disturb'd this vision : far away 
From her fond eyes, summon'd to join th' array 
Of Persia's warriors on the hills of Thrace, 
The youth exchanged his sylvan dwelling-place 
For the rude tent and war-field's deathful clash ; 
His Zelica's sweet glances for the flash 
Of Grecian wild-fire, and Love's gentle chains 
For bleeding bondage on Byzantium's plains. 

Month after month, in widowhood of soul 
Drooping, the maiden saw two summers roll 
Their suns away, — but, ah ! how cold and dim 
Even summer suns, when not beheld with him ! 



LALLA ROOKH. 27 

From time to time ill-omen'd rumours came 
(Like spirit tongues, muttering tlie sick man's name 
Just ere he dies) ; at length, those sounds of dread 
Fell withering on her soul, " Azim is dead ! " 
Oh, grief beyond all other griefs, when fate 
First leaves the young heart lone and desolate 
In the wide world, without that only tie 
For which it loved to live or fear'd to die, — 
Lorn as the hung-up lute, that ne'er hath spoken 
Since the sad day its master-chord was broken ! 

Fond maid, the sorrow of her soul was such, 
E'en reason sunk, blighted beneath its touch ; 
And though, erelong, her sanguine spirit rose 
Above the first dead pressure of its woes. 
Though health and bloom return'd, the delicate chain 
Of thought, once tangled, never clear'd again. 
Warm, lively, soft as in youth's happiest day. 
The mind was still all there, but turn'd astray, — 
A wandering bark, upon whose pathway shone 
All stars of heaven, except the guiding one ! 
Again she smiled, nay, much and brightly smiled ; 
But 'twas a lustre strange, unreal, wild ; 
And when she sung to her lute's touching strain, 
'Twas like the notes, half ecstasy, half pain. 
The bulbul utters, ere her soul depart. 
When, vanquished by some minstrel's powerful art. 
She dies upon the lute whose sweetness broke her heart ! 

Such was the mood in which that mission found 
Young Zelica, — that mission, which around 



28 LALLA ROOKH. 

The eastern world, in every region blest 

With woman's smile, sought out its loveliest, 

To grace that galaxy of lips and eyes 

Which the Veil'd Prophet destined for the skies 1 — 

And such quick welcome as a spark receives 

Dropped on a bed of autumn's wither'd leaves, 

Did every tale of these enthusiasts find 

In the wild maiden's sorrow-blighted mind. 

All fire, at once the maddening zeal she caught ; — 

Elect of Paradise ! blest, rapturous thought ; 

Predestined bride, in heaven's eternal dome. 

Of some brave youth — ha ! durst they say " of some ? " 

No, — of the one, one only object traced 

In her heart's core too deep to be effaced ; 

The one whose memory, fresh as life, is twined 

With every broken link of her lost mind, — 

Whose image lives, though reason's self be wreck'd, 

Safe 'mid the ruins of her intellect ! 

Alas, poor Zelica ! it needed all 
The fantasy which held thy mind in thrall. 
To see in that gay haram's glowing maids 
A sainted colony for Eden's shades ; 
Or dream that he — of whose unholy flame 
Thou wert too soon the victim — shining came 
From Paradise, to people its pure sphere 
With souls like thine, which he hath ruin'd here ! 
No, — had not reason's light totally set, 
And left thee dark, thou hadst an amulet 
In the loved image, graven on thy heart. 
Which would have saved thee from the tempter's art,. 




r^ 



LALLA ROOKH. 3 1 

And kept alive, in all its bloom of breath, 
That purity, whose fading is love's death ! 
But lost, inflamed, a restless zeal took place 
Of the mild virgin's still and feminine grace ; 
First of the Prophet's favourites, proudly first 
In zeal and charms, too well th' impostor nursed 
Her soul's delirium, in whose active flame. 
Thus lighting up a young, luxuriant frame. 
He saw more potent sorceries to bind 
To his dark yoke the spirits of mankind, 
More subtle chains than hell itself e'er twined. 
No art was spared, no witchery ; all the skill 
His demons taught him was employ'd to fill 
Her mind with gloom and ecstasy by turns, — 
That gloom through which frenzy but fiercer burns ; 
That ecstasy which from the depth of sadness 
Glares like the maniac's moon, whose light is mad- 
ness ! 

'Twas from a brilliant banquet, where the sound 
Of poesy and music breathed around, 
Together picturing to her mind and ear 
The glories of that heaven, her destined sphere. 
Where all was pure, where every stain that lay 
Upon the spirit's light should pass away. 
And, realising more than youthful love 
E'er wish'd or dream'd, she should for ever rove 
Through fields of fragrance by her Azim's side, 
His own bless'd, purified, eternal bride ! — 
'Twas from a scene, a witching trance, like this, 
He hurried her away, yet breathing bliss. 



32 



LALLA ROOKH. 




To the dim charnel-house; — through all its steams 
Of damp and death, led only by those gleams 
Which foul Corruption lights, as with design 
To show the gay and proud she too can shine ! — 
And, passing on through upright ranks of dead, 
Which to the maiden, doubly crazed by dread, 
Seem'd, through the bluish death-light round them cast,, 
To move their lips in mutterings as she pass'd, — 
There, in that awful place, when each had quaff'd 
And pledged in silence such a fearful draught. 
Such — oh ! the look and taste of that red bowl 
Will haunt her till she dies, — he bound her soul 
By a dark oath, in hell's own language framed. 
Never, while earth his mystic presence claim'd, 



LALLA ROOKH. 

While the blue arch of day hung o'er 

them both, 
Never, by that all-imprecating oath. 
In joy or sorrow from his side to 

sever. 
She swore, and the wide charnel 

echo'd, '■ Never, never ! " 

Prom that 

dread hour, 

entirely, 

wildly given 
To him and 

— she be- 
lieved, lost 

maid ! — to 

Heaven ; 
Her brain, 

her heart, 

her pas- 
sions, all 

inflamed, 
How proud 

she stood, 

when in full 

haram 

named 
The Priestess 

of the 

Faith ! — 

how flash'd 

her eyes 



33 




34 LALLA ROOKH. 

With light, alas ! that was not of the skies, 

When round in trances only less than hers, 

She saw the haram kneel, her prostrate worshippers t 

Well might Mokanna think that form alone 

Had spells enough to make the world his own, — 

Light, lovely limbs, to which the spirit's play 

Gave motion, airy as the dancing spray 

When from its stem the small bird wings away ! 

Lips in whose rosy labyrinth, when she smiled. 

The soul was lost; and blushes, swift and wild 

As are the momentary meteors sent 

Across th' uncalm but beauteous firmament. 

And then her look ! — oh ! where's the heart so wise, 

Could unbewilder'd meet those matchless eyes ? 

Quick, restless, strange, but exquisite withal. 

Like those of angels, just before their fall ; 

Now shadow'd with the shames of earth, now cross'd 

By glimpses of the heaven her heart had lost ; 

In every glance there broke, without control, 

The flashes of a bright but troubled soul. 

Where sensibility still wildly play'd. 

Like lightning, round the ruins it had made ! 

And such was now young Zelica, — so changed 
From her who, some years since, delighted ranged 
The almond groves that shade Bokhara's tide. 
All life and bliss, with Azim by her side ! 
So alter'd was she now, this festal day. 
When, 'mid the proud divan's dazzling array, 
The vision of that youth, whom she had loved. 
And wept as dead, before her breathed and moved ;. 



LALLA ROOKH. 35 

When — bright, she thought, as if from Eden's track 
But half-way trodden, lie had wander'd back 
Again to earth, gUstening with Eden's Ught — 
Her beauteous Azim shone before her sight 

O Reason ! wlio shall say what spells renew, 
When least we look for it, thy broken clew ? 
Through what small vistas o'er the darken'd brain 
Thy intellectual daybeam bursts again ? 
And how, like forts, to which beleaguerers win 
Unhoped-for entrance through some friend within, 
One clear idea, waken'd in the breast 
By memory's magic, lets in all the rest ? 
Would it were thus, unhappy girl, with thee ! 
But, though light came, it came but partially ; 
Enough to show the maze in which thy sense 
Wander'd about, but not to guide it thence ; 
Enough to glimmer o'er the yawning wave. 
But not to point the harbour which might save. 
Hours of delight and peace, long left behind, 
With that dear form came rushing o'er her mind ; 
But, oh ! to think how deep her soul had gone 
In shame and falsehood since those moments shone ; 
And, then, her oath, — there madness lay again. 
And, shuddering, back she sunk into a chain 
Of mental darkness, as if blest to flee 
From light, w^hose every glimpse was agony ! 
Yet one relief this glance of former years 
Brought, mingled with its pain, — tears, floods of tears. 
Long frozen at her heart, but now like rills 
Let loose in spring-time from the snowy hills, 



36 



LALLA ROOKH. 





And gushing warm, 



after a 



sleep of frost, 



Through valleys 
flow had lone 



where their 
been lost ! 



Sad and subdued, for the 
first time her frame 
Trembled with horror, when 
the summons came 

(A summons proud and rare, which all but she, 

And she, till now, had heard with ecstasy) 

To meet Mokanna at his place of prayer, 

A garden oratory, cool and fair, 

By the stream's side, where still at close of day 

The Prophet of the Veil retired to pray ; 

Sometimes alone, but oftener far with one. 

One chosen nymph, to share his orison. 

Of late none found such favour in his sight 
As the young Priestess ; and though, since that night 



LALLA ROOKH. 37 

When the death-caverns echo'd every tone 

Of the dire oath that made her all his own, 

Th' impostor, sure of his infatuate prize. 

Had, more than once, thrown off his soul's disguise. 

And utter'd such unheavenly, monstrous things, 

As e'en across the desperate wanderings 

Of a weak intellect, whose lamp was out. 

Threw startling shadows of dismay and doubt. 

Yet zeal, ambition, her tremendous vow. 

The thought, still haunting her, of that bright brow 

Whose blaze, as yet from mortal eye conceal'd, 

Would soon, proud triumph ! be to her reveal'd. 

To her alone ; and then the hope, most dear. 

Most wild of all, that her transgression here 

Was but a passage through earth's grosser fire, 

From which the spirit would at last aspire. 

Even purer than before, — as perfumes rise 

Through flame and smoke, most welcome to the skies, — 

And that when Azim's fond, divine embrace 

Should circle her in heaven, no darkening trace 

Would on that bosom he once loved remain. 

But all be bright, be pure, be his again ! — 

Wan and dejected, through the evening dusk. 
She now went slowly to that small kiosk, 
Where, pondering alone his impious schemes, 
Mokanna waited her, too wrapt in dreams 
Of the fair-ripening future's rich success, 
To heed the sorrow, pale and spiritless, 
That sat upon his victim's downcast brow, 
•Or mark how slow her step, how alter'd now 



38 



LALLA ROOKH. 



From the quick, ardent Priestess, whose light bound 
Came like a spirit's o'er th' unechoing ground, — 
From that wild Zelica, whose every glance 
Was thrilling fire, whose every thought a trance ! 

Upon his couch the Veil'd Mokanna lay. 
While lamps around — not such as lend their ray, 
Glimmering and cold, to those who nightly pray 
In holy Koom, or Mecca's dim arcades. 
But brilliant, soft, — such lights as lovely maids 





LALLA ROOKH. 

Look loveliest in — shed their luxurious glow 

Upon his mystic Veil's white glittering fiow. 

Beside him, 'stead of beads and books of prayer, 

Which the world fondly thought he mused on there, 

Stood vases, filled with Kishmee's golden wine, 

And the red weepings of the Shiraz vine ; 

Of which his curtain'd lips full many a draught 

Took zealously, as if each drop they quaff'd. 

Like Zemzem's Spring of Holiness, had power 

To freshen the soul's virtues into flower ! 

And still he drank and ponder'd, nor could see 

Th' approaching maid, so deep his reverie ; 

At length, with fiendish laugh, like that which broke 

From Eblis at the Fall of Man, he spoke : 

" Yes, ye vile race, for hell's amusement given, 
Too mean for earth, yet claiming kin with Heaven ;, 
God's images, forsooth ! — such gods as he 
Whom India serves, the monkey deity ; 
Ye creatures of a breath, proud things of clay. 
To whom if Lucifer, as grandams say. 
Refused, though at the forfeit of Heaven's light, 
To bend in worship, Lucifer was right ! — 
Soon shall I plant this foot upon the neck 
Of your foul race, and without fear or check, 
Luxuriating in hate, avenge my shame. 
My deep-felt, long-nurst loathing of man's name! — 
Soon, at the head of myriads, blind and fierce 
As hooded falcons, through the universe 
I'll sweep my darkening, desolating way. 
Weak man my instrument, curst man my prey ! 



39 



40 LALLA ROOKH. 

" Ye wise, ye learn'd, who grope your dull way on 
By the dim twinkling gleams of ages gone, 
Like superstitious thieves, who think the light 
From dead men's marrow guides them best at night, 
Ye shall have honours, wealth, — yes, sages, yes. — 
I know, grave fools, your wisdom's nothingness ; 
Un dazzled it can track yon starry sphere, 
But a gilt stick, a bawble, blinds it here. 
How I shall laugh, when trumpeted along, 
In lying speech and still more lying song. 
By these learn'd slaves, the meanest of the throng ; 
Their wits bought up, their wisdom shrunk so small 
A sceptre's puny point can wield it all ! 

" Ye, too, believers of incredible creeds. 
Whose faith enshrines the monsters which it breeds ; 
Who, bolder even than Nemrod, think to rise. 
By nonsense heap'd on nonsense to the skies, 
Ye shall have the miracles, aye, sound ones too, 
Seen, heard, attested, everything — but true. 
Your preaching zealots, too inspired to seek 
One grace of meaning for the things they speak ; 
Your martyrs, ready to shed out their blood. 
For truths too heavenly to be understood ; 
And your state priests, sole venders of the lore 
That works salvation, — as on Ava's shore, 
Where none but priests are privileged to trade 
In that best marble of which gods are made ; — 
They shall have mysteries, — aye, precious stuff 
For knaves to thrive by, — mysteries enough ; 
Dark, tangled doctrines, dark as fraud can weave, 



LALLA ROOKH. 



41 



Which simple votaries shall on trust receive, 

While craftier feign belief, till they believe. 

A heaven, too, ye must have, ye lords of dust, — 

A splendid paradise, — pure souls, ye must : 

That Prophet ill sustains his holy call. 

Who finds not heavens to suit the tastes of all ; 

Houris for boys, omniscience for sages. 

And wings and glories for all ranks and ages. 

Vain things ! — as lust or vanity inspires. 

The heaven of each is but what each desires. 

And, soul or sense, what- 

e'er the object be, 
Man would be man to all 

eternity ! 
So let him — Eblis ! grant 

this crowning curse, 

But keep him what he is, 

no hell were worse." 

" Oh, my lost soul ! " ex- 
claim 'd the shuddering 
maid, 

Whose ears had drunk 
like poison all he 
said. 

Mokanna started, — not 
abash'd, afraid : 

He knew no more of fear 
than one who dwells 

Beneath the tropics 
knows of icicles ! 




42 LALLA ROOKH. 

But in those dismal words that reach'd his ear, 

" Oh, my lost soul ! " there was a sound so drear, 

So like that voice among the sinful dead. 

In which the legend o'er hell's gate is read, 

That, new as 'twas from her, whom nought could dim 

Or sink till now, it startled even him. 

" Ha, my fair Priestess ! " thus, with ready wile, 
Th' impostor turn'd to greet her, — " thou, whose 

smile 
Hath inspiration in its rosy beam 
Beyond the enthusiast's hope or prophet's dream ! 
Light of the Faith ! who twin'st religion's zeal 
So close with love's, men know not which they feel, 
Nor which to sigh for, in their trance of heart, — 
The heaven thou preachest or the heaven thou art ! 
What should I be without thee ? without thee 
How dull were power, how joyless victory ! 
Though borne by angels, if that smile of thine 
Bless'd not my banner, 'twere but half divine. 
But — why so mournful, child ? those eyes, that shone 
All life last night — what ! is their glory gone ? 
Come, come, — this morn's fatigue hath made them 

pale. 
They want rekindling, — suns themselves would fail, 
Did not their comets bring, as I to thee, 
From Light's own fount supplies of brilliancy ! 
Thou seest this cup, — no juice of earth is here. 
But the pure waters of that upper sphere, 
Whose rills o'er ruby beds and topaz flow. 
Catching the gem's bright colour, as they go. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



43 



/ 



Nightly my Genii come 

and fill these urns — 
Nay, drink, — in every 

drop life's essence 

burns ; 
'Twill make that soul 

all fire, those eyes all 

light. 
Come, come, I want 

thy loveliest smiles 

to-night : 
There is a youth — 

why start ? — thou 

saw'st him then ; 
Look'd he not nobly ? 

such the godlike men 
Thou'lt have to woo 

thee in the bowers 

above ; — 
Though he^ I fear, hath 

thoughts too stern 

for love. 



(} 



^ 




44 LALLA ROOKH. 

Too ruled by that cold enemy of bliss 

The world calls virtue, — we must conquer this ; — 

Nay, shrink not, pretty sage ; 'tis not for thee 

To scan the maze of heaven's mystery. 

The steel must pass through fire, ere it can yield 

Fit instruments for mighty hands to wield. 

This very night I mean to try the art 

Of powerful beauty on that warrior's heart. 

All that my haram boasts of bloom and wit. 

Of skill and charms, most rare and exquisite. 

Shall tempt the boy, — young Mirzala's blue eyes^ 

Whose sleepy lid like snow on violet lies ; 

Arouya's cheeks, warm as a spring-day sun, 

And lips that, like the seal of Solomon, 

Have magic in their pressure ; Zeba's lute. 

And Lilla's dancing feet, that gleam and shoot 

Rapid and white as sea-birds o'er the deep ! — 

All shall combine their witching powers to steep 

My convert's spirit in that softening trance. 

From which to heaven is but the next advance, — 

That glowing, yielding fusion of the breast, 

On which Religion stamps her image best. 

But hear me. Priestess ! though each nymph of these 

Hath some peculiar, practised power to please. 

Some glance or step, which, at the mirror tried, 

First charms herself, then all the world beside, 

There still wants one to make the victory sure. 

One who in every look joins every lure ; 

Through whom all beauty's beams concentred pass. 

Dazzling and warm, as through love's burning-glass. 

Whose gentle lips persuade without a word. 



LALLA ROOKH. 45, 

Whose words, even when unmeaning, are adored. 
Like inarticulate breathings from a shrine. 
Which our faith takes for granted are divine ! 
Such is the nymph we want, all warmth and light, 
To crown the rich temptations of to-night ; 
Such the refined enchantress that must be 
This hero's vanquisher, — and thou art she ! " 

With her hands clasp'd, her lips apart and pale. 
The maid had stood, gazing upon the Veil 
From which these words, like south winds through a 

fence 
Of Kerzrah flowers, came filled with pestilence : 
So boldly utter'd too ! as if all dread 
Of frowns from her, of virtuous frowns, were fled. 
And the wretch felt assured that, once plunged in. 
Her woman's soul would know no pause in sin ! 

At first, though mute she listen'd, hke a dream 
Seem'd all he said ; nor could her mind, whose beam 
As yet was weak, penetrate half his scheme. 
But when, at length, he uttered, " Thou art she ! " 
All flash'd at once, and, shrieking piteously, 
'' Oh, not for worlds ! " she cried — " Great God ! to 

whom 
I once knelt innocent, is this my doom ? 
Are all my dreams, my hopes of heavenly bliss. 
My purity, my pride, then come to this ? — 
To live, the wanton of a fiend ! to be 
The pander of his guilt — oh, infamy ! — 
And sunk, myself, as low as hell can steep 



46 



LALLA ROOKH, 





In its hot flood, drag others down 

as deep ! 
Others ? — ha ! yes, — that youth 

who came to-day, — 
Not him I love, — not him, — oh, 

do but say. 
But swear to me this moment 'tis 

not he. 
And I wall serve, dark fiend ! will 

worship even thee ! " 




LALLA ROOKH. 



47 




" Beware, young raving thing ! — 
in time beware, 

Nor utter what I cannot, must not, 
bear 

Even from thy lips. Go, try thy lute, 
thy voice ; 

The boy must feel their magic, — I 
rejoice 

To see those fires, no matter whence 
they rise. 

Once more illuming my fair Priest- 
ess' eyes ; 





48 LALLA ROOKH. 

And should the youth, whom soon those eyes shall 

warm, 
Indeed resemble thy dead lover's form. 
So much the happier wilt thou find thy doom, 
As one warm lover, full of life and bloom. 
Excels ten thousand cold ones in the tomb. 
Nay, nay, no frowning, sweet ! those eyes were made 
For love, not anger, — I must be obey'd." 

" Obey'd ! — 'tis well, — yes, I deserve it all. 
On me — on me Heaven's vengeance cannot fall 
Too heavily ; but Azim, brave and true 
And beautiful, — must he be ruin'd too t 
Must he^ too, glorious as he is, be driven, 
A renegade, like me, from love and heaven ? 
Like me ? — weak wretch, I wrong him, — not like me ;. 
No, — he's all truth and strength and purity ! 
Fill up your maddening hell-cup to the brim, 
Its witchery, fiends, will have no charm for him. 
Let loose your glowing wantons from their bowers, 
He loves, he loves, and can defy their powers ! 
Wretch that I am, in his heart still I reign 
Pure as when first we met, without a stain ! 
Though ruin'd — lost — my memory, like a charm 
Left by the dead, still keeps his soul from harm. 
Oh ! never let him know how deep the brow 
He kiss'd at parting is dishonor'd now, — 
Ne'er tell him how debased, how sunk, is she 
Whom once he loved ! — once ! — still loves dotingly ! 
Thou laugh'st, tormentor, — what I thou'lt brand my^ 

name 'i 



LALLA ROOKH. 49 

Do, do, — in vain ; he'll not believe my shame. 

He thinks me true, — that nought beneath God's 

sky 
Could tempt or change me, and — so once thought I. 
But this is past, — though worse than death my lot, 
Than hell, 'tis nothing, while he knows it not. 
Far off to some benighted land TU fly. 
Where sunbeam ne'er shall enter till I die ; 
Where none will ask the lost one whence she came, 
But I may fade and fall without a name ! 
And thou — curst man or fiend, whate'er thou art, 
Who found'st this burning plague-spot in my heart. 
And spread'st it — oh, so quick ! — through soul and 

frame, 
With more than demon's art, till I became 
A loathsome thing, all pestilence, all flame ! — 
If, when I'm gone — " 

" Hold, fearless maniac, hold. 
Nor tempt my rage ! — by Heaven ! not half so bold 
The puny bird that dares, with teasing hum. 
Within the crocodile's stretch'd jaws to come ! 
And so thou'lt fly, forsooth ? — what ! give up all 
Thy chaste dominion in the Haram Hall, 
Where now to Love and now to Alia given, 
Half mistress and half saint, thou hang'st as even 
As doth Medina's tomb, 'twixt hell and heaven ! 
Thou'lt fly? — as easily may reptiles run 
The gaunt snake once hath fix'd his eyes upon ; 
As easily, when caught, the prey may be 
Pluck'd from his loving folds, as thou from me. 



50 



LALLA ROOKH. 




No, no, 'tis fix'd, — 
let good or ill 
betide, 
Thou'rt mine till death, 
till death Mokanna's 
bride ! 
Hast thou forgot thy oath ? — '^ 



At this dread word, 

The Maid, whose spirit his rude taunts 
had stirr'd 
Through all its depths, and roused an anger 

there. 
That burst and lighten 'd even through her 

despair. 
Shrunk back, as if a blight were in the breath 
That spoke that word, and stagger'd, pale as 

death. 



" Yes, my sworn bride, let others seek in 
bowers 
Their bridal place, — the charnel vault was 
, ours ! 

' Instead of scents and balms, for thee and me 
Rose the rich steams of sweet mortality ; 
Gay, flickering death-lights shone while we were wed, 
And, for our guests, a row of goodly dead 
(Immortal spirits in their time, no doubt) 
From reeking shrouds upon the rite look'd out ! 
That oath thou heard' st more lips than thine repeat ; 
That cup, — thou shudderest, lady ; was it sweet ? — 



LALLA ROOKH. 5 1 

That cup we pledged, the charnel's choicest wine, — 

Hath bound thee, aye, body and soul all mine ; 

Bound thee by chains that, whether blest or curst, 

No matter now, not hell itself shall burst ! 

Hence, woman, to the haram, and look gay, 

Look wild, look — anything but sad ; yet stay — 

One moment more, — from what this night hath pass'd^ 

I see thou know'st me, know'st me well at last. 

Ha ! ha ! and so, fond thing, thou thought'st all true, 

And that I love mankind — I do, I do. 

As victims, love them ; as the sea-dog doats 

Upon the small sweet fry that round him floats. 

Or as the Nile-bird loves the slime that gives 

That rank and venomous food on which she lives ! 

" And now thou seest my soiiVs angelic hue, 
'Tis time \\\^?>q features were uncurtained too, — 
This brow, whose light — oh, rare celestial light ! — 
Hath been reserved to bless thy favour'd sight ; 
These dazzling eyes, before whose shrouded might 
Thou'st seen immortal Man kneel down and quake, — ■ 
Would that they were heaven's lightnings for his 

sake ! 
But turn and look ; then wonder, if thou wilt. 
That I should hate, should take revenge, by guilt, 
Upon the hand whose mischief or whose mirth 
Sent me thus maim'd and monstrous upon earth, 
And on that race who, though more vile they be 
Than mowing apes, are demigods to me ! 
Here — ^ judge if hell, with all its powers to damn. 
Can add one curse to the foul thing I am ! " — 



52 



LALLA ROOKH. 




He raised his veil, — the Maid turn'd slowly round, 
Look'd at him, shriek'd, and sunk upon the ground ! 



On their arrival, next night, at the place of en- 
campment, they were surprised and delighted to find 
the groves all around illuminated ; some artists of 
Yamtcheou having been sent on previously for the 
purpose. On each side of the green alley which led 
to the Royal Pavilion, artificial sceneries of bamboo 
work were erected, representing arches, minarets, and 
towers, from which hung thousands of silken lanterns, 



LALLA ROOKH. 53 

painted by the most delicate pencils of Canton. Noth- 
ing could be more beautiful than the leaves of the 
mango-trees and acacias, shining in the light of the 
bamboo scenery, which shed a lustre around as soft as 
that of the nights of Peristan. 

Lalla Rookh, however, who was too much occupied 
by the sad story of Zelica and her lover to give a 
thought to anything else, except, perhaps, him who 
related it, hurried on through this scene of splendour 
to her pavilion, — greatly to the mortification of the 
poor artists of Yamtcheou, — and was followed with 
equal rapidity by the Great Chamberlain, cursing, as 
he went, the ancient Mandarin whose parental anx- 
iety in lighting up the shores of the lake where his 
beloved daughter had wandered and been lost was 
the origin of these fantastic Chinese illuminations. 

Without a moment's delay, young Feramorz was 
introduced ; and Fadladeen, who could never make up 
his mind as to the merits of a poet till he knew the 
religious sect to which he belonged, was about to ask 
him whether he was a Shia or a Sooni, when Lalla 
Rookh impatiently clapped her hands for silence, and 
the youth, being seated upon the musnud near her, 
proceeded : — 

Prepare thy soul, young Azim ! — thou hast braved 
The bands of Greece, still mighty, though enslaved ; 
Hast faced her phalanx, arm'd with all its fame. 
Her Macedonian pikes and globes of flame ; — 



54 LALLA ROOKH. 

All this hast fronted, with firm heart and brow : 

But a more perilous trial waits thee now, — 

Woman's bright eyes, a dazzling host of eyes 

From every land where woman smiles or sighs ; 

Of every hue, as Love may chance to raise 

His black or azure banner in their blaze ; 

And each sweet mode of warfare, from the flash 

That lightens boldly through the shadowy lash, 

To the sly, stealing splendours, almost hid, 

Like swords half-sheathed, beneath the downcast lid. 

Such, Azim, is the lovely, luminous host 

Now led against thee ; and, let conquerors boast 

Their fields of fame, he who in virtue arms 

A young, warm spirit against beauty's charms. 

Who feels her brightness, yet defies her thrall. 

Is the best, bravest conqueror of them all. 

Now, through the haram chambers, moving lights 
And busy shapes proclaim the toilet's rites ; 
From room to room the ready handmaids hie, — 
Some skill'd to wreathe the turban tastefully, 
Or hang the veil, in negligence of shade, 
O'er the warm blushes of the youthful maid, 
Who, if between the folds but one eye shone. 
Like Seba's Queen could vanquish with that one 
While some bring leaves of henna to imbue 
The fingers' ends with a bright roseate hue. 
So bright that in the mirror's depth they seem 
Like tips of coral branches in the stream ; 
And others mix the Kohol's jetty dye. 
To give that long, dark languish to the eye, 



LALLA ROOKH. 55 

Which makes the maids, whom kings are proud to 

cull 
From fair Circassia's vales, so beautiful ! 

All is in motion : rings and plumes and pearls 
Are shining everywhere ! Some younger girls 
Are gone by moonlight to the garden beds, 
To gather fresh, cool chaplets for their heads ; — 
Gay creatures ! sweet, though mournful, 'tis to see 
How each prefers a garland from that tree 
Which brings to mind her childhood's innocent day, 
And the dear fields and friendships far away. 
The maid of India, blest again to hold 
In her full lap the Champac's leaves of gold. 
Thinks of the time when, by the Ganges' flood, 
Her little playmates scatter'd many a bud 
Upon her long black hair, with glossy gleam 
Just dripping from the consecrated stream ; 
While the young Arab, haunted by the smell 
Of her own mountain flowers, as by a spell, — 
The sweet Elcaya, and that courteous tree 
Which bows to all who seek its canopy, — 
Sees, call'd up round her by these magic scents. 
The well, the camels, and her father's tents ; 
Sighs for the home she left with little pain. 
And wishes even its sorrows back again ! 

Meanwhile, through vast illuminated halls, 
Silent and bright, w^iere nothing but the falls 
Of fragrant waters, gushing with cool sound 
From many a jasper fount is heard around. 



56 



LALLA ROOKH. 




Young Azim roams be- 

wilder'd, nor can 

guess 
What means this maze 

of Hght and loneH- 

ness. 
Here the way leads, o'er 

tesselated floors 
Or mats of Cairo, 

through long cor- 



ridors, 



Where, ranged 
in casselets 
and silver 
urns. 



V. ^''M.. 






r.ir 




LALLA ROOKH. 57 

Sweet wood of aloe or of sandal burns ; 

And spicy rods, such as illume at night 

The bowers of Tibet, send forth odorous light, 

Like Peris' wands, when pointing out the road 

For some pure spirit to its blest abode ! — 

And here, at once, that glittering saloon 

Bursts on his sight, boundless and bright as noon ; 

Where, in the midst, reflecting back the rays 

In broken rainbows, a fresh fountain plays 

High as th' enamell'd cupola, which towers 

All rich with arabesques of gold and flowers ; 

And the mosaic floor beneath shines through 

The sprinkling of that fountain's silvery dew. 

Like the wet, glistening shells, of every dye, 

That on the margin of the Red Sea lie. 

Here too he traces the kind visitings 
Of woman's love in those fair, living things 
Of land and wave, whose fate — in bondage thrown 
For their weak loveliness — is like her own ! 
On one side gleaming with a sudden grace 
Through water, brilliant as the crystal vase 
In which it undulates, small fishes shine, 
Like golden ingots from a fairy mine ; 
While, on the other, latticed lightly in 
With odoriferous woods of Comorin, 
Each brilliant bird that wings the air is seen, — 
Gay, sparkling loories, such as gleam between 
The crimson blossoms of the coral-tree 
In the warm isles of India's sunny sea ; 
Mecca's blue sacred pigeon, and the thrush 



58 LALLA ROOKH. 

Of Hindostan, whose holy warblings gush, 

At evening, from the tall pagoda's top ; 

Those golden birds that, in the spice time, drop 

About the gardens, drunk with that sweet food 

Whose scent hath lured them o'er the summer flood ; 

And those that under Araby's soft sun 

Build their high nests of budding cinnamon ; — 

In short, all rare and beauteous things that fly 

Through the pure element, here calmly lie 

Sleeping in light, like the green birds that dwell 

In Eden's radiant fields of asphodel ! 

So on, through scenes past all imagining, — 
More like the luxuries of that impious king 
Whom Death's dark angel, with his lightning torch, 
Struck down and blasted even in pleasure's porch. 
Than the pure dwelling of a prophet sent, 
Arm'd with Heaven's sword, for man's enfranchise- 
ment, — 
Young Azim wander'd, looking sternly round, 
His simple garb and war-boot's clanking sound 
But ill according with the pomp and grace 
And silent lull of that voluptuous place ! 

"Is this, then," thought the youth, "is this the 
way 
To free man's spirit from the deadening sway 
Of worldly sloth, — to teach him, while he lives, 
To know no bliss but that which virtue gives, 
And when he dies, to leave his \oity name 
A light, a landmark, on the cliffs of fame ? 



LALLA ROOKH. 



59 



7 




-2. 








It was not so, land of the 

generous thought 
And- daring deed! thy godhke sages 

It was not thus, in bowers of wan- 
ton ease, 

Thy Freedom nursed 
her sacred energies ; 



*^ Oh ! not beneath 
i th' enfeebl- 
ing, withering 
slow 




6o LALLA ROOKH. 

Of such dull luxury did those myrtles grow 

With which she wreathed her sword, when she would 

dare 
Immortal deeds ; but in the bracing air 
Of toil, of temperance, of that high, rare. 
Ethereal virtue, which alone can breathe 
Life, health, and lustre into Freedom's wreath ! 
Who that surveys this span of earth we press. 
This speck of Ufe in time's great wilderness. 
This narrow isthmus 'twixt two boundless seas, — 
The past, the future, two eternities ! — 
Would sully the bright spot or leave it bare. 
When he might build him a proud temple there, 
A name that long shall hallow all its space, 
And be each purer soul's high resting-place ! 
But no ; it cannot be that one whom God 
Has sent to break the wizard Falsehood's rod — 
A prophet of the Truth, whose mission draws 
Its rights from heaven — should thus profane his 

cause 
With the world's vulgar pomps ; no, no, I see, — 
He thinks me weak, — this glare of luxury 
Is but to tempt, to try the eaglet gaze 
Of my young soul ; — shine on, 'twill stand the blaze ! " 

So thought the youth ; but even while he defied 
This witching scene, he felt its witchery glide 
Through every sense. The perfume, breathing round. 
Like a pervading spirit ; the still sound 
Of falling waters, lulling as the song 
Of Indian bees at sunset, when they throng 



LALLA ROOKH. 6l 

Around the fragrant Nilica, and deep 

In its blue blossoms hum themselves to sleep ! 

And music, too, — dear music! that can touch 

Beyond all else the soul that loves it much, — 

Now heard far off, so far as but to seem 

Like the faint, exquisite music of a dream ; — 

All was too much for him, too full of bliss ; 

The heart could nothing feel, that felt not this : 

Soften'd he sunk upon a couch, and gave 

His soul up to sweet thoughts, like wave on wave 

Succeeding in smooth seas, when storms are laid ; 

He thought of Zelica, his own dear maid, 

And of the time when, full of blissful sighs, 

They sat and look'd into each other's eyes, 

Silent and happy, as if God had given 

Nought else worth looking at on this side heaven 1 

" O my loved mistress ! whose spirit still 
Is with me, round me, wander where I will, 
It is for thee, for thee alone, I seek 
The paths of glory, — to light up thy cheek 
With warm approval, — in that gentle look 
To read my praise, as in an angel's book, 
And think all toils rewarded, when from thee 
I gain a smile, worth immortality ! 
How shall I bear the moment, when restored 
To that young heart where I alone am lord, 
Though of such bliss unworthy, — since the best 
Alone deserve to be the happiest ! — 
When from those lips, unbreathed upon for years, 
I shall again kiss off the soul-felt tears, 



62 LALLA ROOKH. 

And find those tears warm as when last they started, 

Those sacred kisses pure as when we parted ! 

O my own life ! why should a single day, 

A moment, keep me from those arms away ? " 

While thus he thinks, still nearer on the breeze 
Come those delicious, dream-like harmonies, 
Each note of w^hich but adds new, downy links 
To the soft chain in which his spirit sinks. 
He turns him toward the sound ; and far away 
Through a long vista, sparkling with the play 
Of countless lamps, — like the rich track which day 
Leaves on the waters when he sinks from us, 
So long the path, its light so tremulous, — 
He sees a group of female forms advance : 
Some chain'd together in the mazy dance 
By fetters, forged in the green sunny bowers. 
As they were captives to the King of Flowers ; 
And some disporting round, unlink'd and free. 
Who seem'd to mock their sisters' slavery. 
And round and round them still, in wheeling flight, 
Went, like gay moths about a lamp at night ; 
While others waked, as gracefully along 
Their feet kept time, the very soul of song 
From psaltery, pipe, and lutes of heavenly thrill, 
Or their own youthful voices, heavenlier still ! 
And now they come, now pass before his eye, — 
Forms such as Nature moulds, when she would vie 
With Fancy's pencil, and give birth to things 
Lovely beyond its fairest picturings ! 
Awhile thev dance before him, then divide 



LALLA ROOKH. 



6? 



.■^^ 




IV 



Breakin- 






like rosy 






clouds at 
even-tide 

Around the rich 
pavilion of the sun, 

Till silently dispers- 
ing, one by one, 

Through many a path 

that from the chamber lead 

To gardens, terraces, and moon 
light meads, 




64 LALLA ROOKH. 

Their distant laughter comes upon the wind, 

And but one trembhng nymph remains behind, 

Beckoning them back in vain, for they are gone, 

And she is left in all that light alone ; 

No veil to curtain o'er her beauteous brow, 

In its young bashfulness more beauteous now, 

But a light golden chain-work round her hair. 

Such as the maids of Yezd and Shiraz wear. 

From which, on either side, gracefully hung 

A golden amulet, in th' Arab tongue 

Engraven o'er with some immortal line 

From holy writ, or bard scarce less divine ; 

While her left hand, as shrinkingly she stood. 

Held a small lute of gold and sandal-wood. 

Which once or twice she touch'd with hurried strain. 

Then took her trembling fingers off again. 

But when at length a timid glance she stole 

At Azim, the sweet gravity of soul 

She saw through all his features calm'd her fear. 

And, like a half-tamed antelope, more near. 

Though shrinking still, she came ; then sat her down 

Upon a musnud's edge, and, bolder grown. 

In the pathetic mode of Isfahan 

Touch'd a preluding strain, and thus began : 

There's a bower of roses by Bendemeer's stream, 
And the nightingale sings round it all the day 
long. 
In the time of my childhood 'twas like a sweet 
dream, 
To sit in the roses and hear the bird's song. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



65 



That bower and its music I never forget, 
But oft when alone, in the 
bloom of the year, 
I think — is the nightin- 
gale singing there 
yet? 
Are the roses still bright 
by the calm 
Bendemeer ? 

No, the roses 
soon with- 
er'd that 
hung o'er 

the wave ; ,, ... 





66 LALLA ROOKH. 

But some blossoms were gather'd, while freshly they 
shone, 
And a dew was distill'd from their flowers, that gave 
All the fragrance of summer, when summer was gone. 

Thus memory draws from delight, ere it dies, 
An essence that breathes of it many a year ; 

Thus bright to my soul, as 'twas then to my eyes, 
Is that bower on the banks of the calm Bendemeer! 

" Poor maiden ! " thought the youth, " if thou wert 
sent. 
With thy soft lute and beauty's blandishment 
To wake unholy wishes in this heart. 
Or tempt its truth, thou little know'st the art ; 
For though thy lip should sweetly counsel wrong, 
Those vestal eyes would disavow its song. 
But thou hast breathed such purity, thy lay 
Returns so fondly to youth's virtuous day. 
And leads thy soul — if e'er it wander'd thence — 
So gently back to its first innocence. 
That I would sooner stop the unchain'd dove. 
When swift returning to its home of love, 
And round its snowy wing new fetters twine. 
Than turn from virtue one pure wish of thine ! " 

Scarce had this feeling pass'd when sparkling through 
The gently open'd curtains of light blue 
That veil'd the breezy casement, countless eyes, 
Peeping like stars through the blue evening skies, 
Look'd laughing in, as if to mock the pair 
That sat so still and melancholy there. 



LALLA ROOKH. 6/ 

And now the curtains fly apart, and in 

From the cool air, 'mid showers of jessamine 

Which those without fling after them in play, 

Two lightsome maidens spring, lightsome as they 

Who live in th' air on odours, and around 

The bright saloon, scarce conscious of the ground, 

Chase one another, in a varying dance 

Of mirth and languor, coyness and advance, 

Too eloquendy like love's warm pursuit ; 

While she who sung so gently to the lute 

Her dream of home, steals timidly away, 

Shrinking as violets do in summer's ray, 

But takes with her from Azim's heart that sigh 

We sometimes give to forms that pass us by 

In the world's crowd, too lovely to remain, 

Creatures of light we never see again ! 

Around the white necks of the nymphs who danced 
Hung carcanets of orient gems, that glanced 
More brilliant than the sea-glass glittering o'er 
The hills of crystal on the Caspian shore ; 
While from their long, dark tresses, in a fall 
Of curls descending, bells as musical 
As those that on the golden-shafted trees 
Of Eden shake in the Eternal Breeze, 
Rung round their steps, at every bound more sweet. 
As 'twere th' ecstatic language of their feet ! 
At length the chase was o'er, and they stood wreathed 
Within each other's arms ; while soft there breathed 
Through the cool casement, mingled with the sighs 
Of moonlight flowers, music that seem'd to rise 



68 



LALLA ROOKH. 




^^I«. 




From some still 
lake, so liquidly 
it rose ; 
And, as it swell'd again at each 

faint close, 
The ear could track through all 

that maze of chords 
And young sweet voices, these 
im passion 'd words : 

A Spirit there is, whose fragrant 
sigh 
Is burning now through earth 
and air : 
Where cheeks are blushing, the 
Spirit is nigh ; 
Where lips are meeting, the 
Spirit is there ! 

His breath is the soul of flowers 
like these, 



LALLA ROOKH. 69 

And his floating eyes — oh ! they resemble 
Blue water-lilies, when the breeze 

Is making the stream around them tremble ! 

Hail to thee, hail to thee, kindling power ! 

Spirit of Love ! Spirit of Bliss ! 
Thy holiest time is the moonlight hour. 

And there never was moonlight so sweet as this. 

By the fair and brave. 

Who blushing unite, 
Like the sun and wave. 

When they meet at night ! 

By the tear that shows 

When passion is nigh. 
As the rain-drop flows 

From the heat of the sky ! 

By the first love-beat 

Of the youthful heart. 
By the bliss to meet 

And the pain to part ! 

By all that thou hast 

To mortals given, 
Which — oh ! could it last. 

This earth were heaven ! 

We call thee hither, entrancing Powder ! 

Spirit of Love ! Spirit of Bliss ! 
Thy holiest time is the moonlight hour. 

And there never was moonlight so sweet as this. 



70 



LALLA ROOKH. 



.^w. .w 






Impatient of a scene 

whose luxuries stole, 
Spite of himself, too deep 

into his soul, 
And where, 'midst all that 

the young heart loves 

most, 
Flowers, music, smiles, to 

yield was to be lost, 
The youth hath started up, 

and turn'd away 
From the light nymphs and 

their luxurious lay. 
To muse upon the pictures 

that hung round, — 
Bright images, that spoke 

without a sound. 
And views, like vistas into 

fairy ground. 
But here again new spells 

came o'er his sense : 




'**'-%i&rUt; 



LALLA ROOKH. ^l 

All that the pencil's mute omnipotence 
Could call up into life, of soft and fair, 
Of fond and passionate, was glowing there ; 
Nor yet too warm, but touch'd with that fine art 
Which paints of pleasure but the purer part ; 
Which knows e'en Beauty when half veil'd is best, 
Like her own radiant planet of the west, 
Whose orb when half retired looks loveliest ! 
There hung the history of the Genii-King, 
Traced through each gay, voluptuous wandering 
With her from Saba's bowers, in whose bright eyes 
He read that to be blest is to be wise ; 
Here fond Zuleika wooes with open arms 
The Hebrew boy, who flies from her young charms^ 
Yet, flying, turns to gaze, and, half undone, 
Wishes that heaven and she could both be won ! 
And here Mohammed, born for love and guile, 
Forgets the Koran in his Mary's smile ; 
Then beckons some kind angel from above 
With a new text to consecrate their love ! 

With rapid step, yet pleased and lingering eye. 
Did the youth pass these pictured stories by, 
And hasten'd to a casement, where the light 
Of the calm m.oon came in, and freshly bright 
The fields without were seen, sleeping as still 
As if no life remain'd in breeze or rill. 
Here paused he, while the music, now less near, 
Breathed with a holier language on his ear. 
As though the distance and that heavenly ray 
Through which the sounds came floating, took away 



72 LALLA ROOKH. 

All that had been too earthly in the lay. 

Oh ! could he listen to such sounds unmoved, 

And by that light, — nor dream of her he loved ? 

Dream on, unconscious boy ! while yet thou may'st ; 

'Tis the last bliss thy soul shall ever taste. 

Clasp yet awhile her image to thy heart. 

Ere all the light that made it dear depart. 

Think of her smiles as when thou saw'st them last, 

Clear, beautiful, by nought of earth o'ercast ; 

Recall her tears, to thee at parting given. 

Pure as they weep, if angels weep, in heaven ! 

Think in her own still bower she waits thee now, 

With the same glow of heart and bloom of brow, 

Yet shrined in solitude, — thine all, thine only. 

Like the one star above thee, bright and lonely ! 

Oh that a dream so sweet, so long enjoy'd, 

Should be so sadly, cruelly destroy'd ! 

The song is hush'd, the laughing nymphs are flown, 
And he is left, musing of bliss, alone ; — 
Alone ! no, not alone ; that heavy sigh. 
That sob of grief, which broke from some one nigh, — 
Whose could it be ? — alas ! is misery found 
Here, even here, on this enchanted ground 1 
He turns, and sees a female form, close veil'd. 
Leaning as if both heart and strength had fail'd. 
Against a pillar near, — not glittering o'er 
With gems and wreaths, such as the others wore, 
But in that deep blue, melancholy dress 
Bokhara's maidens wear, in mindfulness 
Of friends or kindred, dead or far awav ; — 



LALLA ROOKH. 



73 



And such as Zelica had on 

that day 
He left her, — w'hen, with 

heart too full to speak, 
He took away her last warm 

tears upon his cheek. 

A strong emotion stirs 
within him, — more 
Than mere compassion ever 

waked before ; 
Unconsciously 
he opes 
his arms, 
while she 




74 LALLA ROOKH. 

Springs forward, as with life's last energy, 

But, swooning in that one convulsive bound, 

Sinks, ere she reaches his arms, upon the ground. 

Her veil falls off, her faint hands clasp his knees, 

'Tis she herself ! — 'tis Zelica he sees ! 

But, ah, so pale, so changed, none but a lover 

Could in that wreck of beauty's shrine discover 

The once adored divinity ! even he 

Stood for some moments mute, and doubtingly 

Put back the ringlets from her brow, and gazed 

Upon those lids, where once such lustre blazed, 

Ere he could think she was indeed his own. 

Own darling maid, whom he so long had known 

In joy and sorrow, beautiful in both; 

Who, e'en when grief was heaviest, — when loath 

He left her for the wars, — in that worst hour 

Sat in her sorrow like the sweet night flower, 

When darkness brings its weeping glories out, 

And spreads its sighs like frankincense about ! 

" Look up. my Zelica, — one moment show 
Those gentle eyes to me, that I may know 
Thy life, thy loveliness, is not all gone, 
But there^ at least, shines as it ever shone. 
Come, look upon thy Azim, — one dear glance, 
Like those of old, were heaven ! whatever chance 
Hath brought thee here, oh, 'twas a blessed one ! 
There — my sweet lids — they move, — that kiss hath run 
Like the first shoot of life, through every vein, 
And now I clasp her, mine, all mine again ! 
Oh the delight — now, in this very hour, 



LALLA ROOKH. 



75 



When, had the whole rich world been in my power, 
I should have singled out thee, only thee, 
From the whole world's collected treasury, — 




To have thee here, — to hang thus fondly o'er 
My own best, purest Zelica once more ! " 

It was indeed the touch of those fond lips 
Upon her eyes that chased their short eclipse, 



76 LALLA ROOKH. 

And gradual, as the snow at heaven's breath 
Melts off and shows the azure flowers beneath, 
Her lids unclosed, and the bright eyes were seen, 
Gazing on his, — not, as they late had been. 
Quick, restless, wild, but mournfully serene ; 
As if to lie, e'en for that tranced minute. 
So near his heart, had consolation in it, 
And thus to wake in his beloved caress 
Took from her soul one half its wretchedness. 
But when she heard him call her good and pure. 
Oh, 'twas too much, — too dreadful to endure ! 
Shuddering, she broke away from his embrace, 
And, hiding with both hands her guilty face, 
Said, in a tone whose anguish would have riven 
A heart of very marble, " Pure ? — O Heaven ! " 

That tone, — those looks so changed, — the wither- 
ing blight 
That sin and sorrow leave where'er they light, — 
The dead despondency of those sunk eyes. 
Where once, had he thus met her by surprise. 
He would have seen himself, too happy boy. 
Reflected in a thousand lights of joy, — 
And then the place, that bright unholy place, 
Where vice lay hid beneath each winning grace 
And charm of luxury, as the viper weaves 
Its wily covering of sweet balsam-leaves, — 
All struck upon his heart, sudden and cold 
As death itself ; it needs not to be told, — 
No, no, — he sees it all, plain as the brand 
Of burning shame can mark, — whate'er the hand 



LALLA ROOKH. ']7 

That could from heaven and him such brightness 

sever, 
'Tis done, — to heaven and him she's lost for ever ! 
It was a dreadful moment; not the tears, 
The lingering, lasting misery of years, 
Could match that minute's anguish, — all the worst 
Of sorrow's elements in that dark burst 
Broke o'er his soul, and with one crash of fate 
Laid the whole hopes of his life desolate ! 



" Oh ! curse me not," she cried, as wild he toss'd 
His desperate hand toward heaven — " though I am 

lost, 
Think not that guilt, that falsehood, made me fall ; 
No, no, — 'twas grief, 'twas madness, did it all ! 
Nay, doubt me not ; though all thy love hath 

ceased, — 
I know it hath, — yet, yet believe, at least, 
That every spark of reason's light must be 
Quench'd in this brain ere I could stray from thee ! 
They told me thou wert dead, — why, Azim, why 
Did we not, both of us, that instant die 
When we were parted ? — oh ! couldst thou but know 
With what a deep devotedness of woe 
I wept thy absence, — o'er and o'er again 
Thinking of thee, still thee, till thought grew pain. 
And memory, like a drop that, night and day. 
Falls cold and ceaseless, wore my heart away, — 
Didst thou but know how pale I sat at home, 
My eyes still turn'd the way thou wert to come. 
And, all the long, long night of hope and fear, 



7^ LALLA ROOKH. 

Thy voice and step still sounding in my ear, — 
O God ! thou wouldst not wonder that, at last, 
When every hope was all at once o'ercast. 
When I heard frightful voices round me say 
Azhn is dead! — this wretched brain gave way, 
And I became a wreck, at random driven. 
Without one glimpse of reason or of heaven, — 
All wild, — and even this quenchless love within 
Turn'd to foul fires to light me into sin ! 
Thou pitiest me, — - 1 knew thou wouldst ; that sky 
Hath nought beneath it half so lorn as I. 
The fiend, who lured me hither, — hist ! come near, 
Or thou too, tJiou art lost, if he should hear, — 
Told me such things — oh ! with such devilish art 
As would have ruin'd even a holier heart — 
Of thee, and of that ever-radiant sphere. 




LALLA ROOKH. 79 

Where bless'd at length, if I but served him here, 

I should for ever live in thy dear sight, 

And drink from those pure eyes eternal light! 

Think, think how lost, how madden'd, I must be. 

To hope that guilt could lead to God or thee ! 

Thou weep'st for me, — do weep — oh that I durst 

Kiss off that tear ! but, no, — these lips are curst, 

They must not touch thee ; — one divine caress. 

One blessed moment of forgetfulness, 

I've had within those arms, and that shall lie 

Shrined in my soul's deep memory till I die ! 

The last of joy's last relics here below. 

The one sweet drop, in all this waste of woe, 

My heart has treasured from affection's spring, 

To soothe and cool its deadly withering ! 

But thou — yes, thou must go — for ever go ; 

This place is not for thee — for thee ! oh, no ! 

Did I but tell thee half, thy tortured brain 

Would burn like mine, and mine go wild again ! 

Enough that Guilt reigns here, — that hearts once 

good, 
Now tainted, chill'd, and broken, are his food ; 
Enough that we are parted, — that there rolls 
A flood of headlong fate between our souls. 
Whose darkness severs me as wide from thee 
As hell from heaven, to all eternity ! "— 

" ZeUca ! Zelica ! " the youth exclaim'd, 
In all the tortures of a mind inflamed 
Almost to madness, " by that sacred heaven. 
Where yet, if prayers can move, thou'lt be forgiven 



80 LALLA ROOKH. 

As thou art here — here in this writhing heart, 
All sinful, wild, and ruin'd as thou art ! 
By the remembrance of our once pure love, 
Which, like a churchyard light, still burns above 
The grave of our lost souls, — which guilt in thee 
Cannot extinguish, nor despair in me ! — 
I do conjure, implore thee to fly hence ; 
If thou hast yet one spark of innocence. 
Fly with me from this place — " 

" With thee ! oh, bliss, 
'Tis worth whole years of torment to hear this. 
What ! take the lost one with thee ? — let her rove 
By thy dear side, as in those days of love. 
When we were both so happy, both so pure — 
Too heavenly dream ! if there's on earth a cure 
For the sunk heart, 'tis this, — day after day 
To be the blest companion of thy way ; 
To hear thy angel eloquence ; to see 
Those virtuous eyes for ever turn'd on me. 
And in their light re-chasten'd silently, — 
Like the stain'd web that whitens in the sun. 
Grow pure by being purely shone upon. 
And thou wilt pray for me, — I know thou wilt : 
At the dim vesper hour, when thoughts of guilt 
Come heaviest o'er the heart, thou' It lift thine eyes,, 
Full of sweet tears, into the darkening skies. 
And plead for me with Heaven, till I can dare 
To fix my own weak, sinful glances there ; 
Till the good angels, when they see me cling 
For ever near thee, pale and sorrowing, 
Shall for thy sake pronounce my soul forgiven. 



LALLA ROOKH. 8l 

And bid thee take thy weeping slave to heaven : 
Oh, yes, I'll fly with thee — " 

Scarce had she said 
These breathless words, when a voice deep and dread 
As that of Monker, waking up the dead 
From their first sleep, — so startling 'twas to both, — 
Rung through the casement near, " Thy oath ! thy 
oath ! " 

Heaven, the ghastliness of that Maid's look ! — 
" 'Tis he," faintly she cried, while terror shook 
Her inmost core, nor durst she lift her eyes, 
Though through the casement now nought but the 

skies 
And moonlight fields were seen, calm as before, — 
" 'Tis he, and I am his — all, all is o'er — 
Go — fly this instant, or thou'rt ruin'd too — 
My oath, my oath, O God ! 'tis all too true, 
True as the worm in this cold heart it is — 

1 am Mokanna's bride — his, Azim, his — 

The dead stood round us, while I spoke that vow. 
Their blue lips echoed it — I hear them now ! 
Their eyes glared on me while I pledged that bowl ; 
'Twas burning blood — I feel it in my soul ! 
And the Veiled Bridegroom — hist ! I've seen to-night 
What angels know not of, — so foul a sight, 
So horrible — oh ! never mayst thou see 
What there lies hid from all but hell and me ! 
But I must hence — off, off — I am not thine, 
Nor Heaven's, nor Love's, nor nought that is divine — 
Hold me not — ha! — think'st thou the fiends that 
sever 



LALLA ROOKH. 



Hearts, cannot sunder _ 
hands ? — thus, then 
— for ever ! " 



With all that strength which mad- 
ness lends the weak, 

She flung away his arms ; and with a 
shriek, 

Whose sound, though he should 
linger out more years 



'"^^ 



4m ^ 



^,^.. 






f 



m 






M' 



\^ 














Than wretch e'er told, can never leave 
his ears, 
^ ' n| Flew up through that long avenue of 
) ^^ light, 

K. /«. Fleetly as some dark, ominous bird of 

J \' night 

^ Across the sun, and soon was out of 



sight ! 



LALLA ROOKH. 83 

Lalla Rookh could think of nothing all day but 
the misery of these two young lovers. Her gaiety 
was gone, and she looked pensively even upon Fadla- 
deen. She felt too, without knowing why, a sort of 
uneasy pleasure in imagining that Azim must have 
been just such a youth as Feramorz ; just as worthy to 
enjoy all the blessings, without any of the pangs, of 
that illusive passion, which too often, like the sunny 
apples of Istakhar, is all sweetness on one side, and 
all bitterness on the other. 

As they passed along a sequestered river after sun- 
set, they saw a young Hindoo girl upon the bank, 
whose employment seemed to them so strange that 
they stopped their palankeens to observe her. She 
had lighted a small lamp, filled with oil of cocoa, and 
placing it in an earthen dish, adorned with a wreath 
of flowers, had committed it with a trembling hand 
to the stream, and was now anxiously watching its 
progress down the current, heedless of the gay 
cavalcade which had drawn up beside her. Lalla 
Rookh was all curiosity ; when one of her attend- 
ants, who had lived upon the banks of the Ganges 
(where this ceremony is so frequent that often, 
in the dusk of the evening, the river is seen glitter- 
ing all over with lights, like the Oton-tala, or Sea 
of Stars), informed the Princess that it was the usual 
way in which the friends of those who had gone on 
dangerous voyages offered up vows for their safe 
return. If the lamp sunk immediately, the omen 
was disastrous; but if it went shining down the 
stream, and continued to burn until entirely out of 



84 LALLA ROOKH. 

sight, the return of the beloved object was con- 
sidered as certain. 

Lalla Rookh, as they moved on, more than once 
looked back, to observe how the young Hindoo's lamp 
proceeded ; and while she saw with pleasure that it 
was still unextinguished, she could not help fearing 
that all the hopes of this life were no better than that 
feeble light upon the river. The remainder of the 
journey was passed in silence. She now, for the first 
time, felt that shade of melancholy which comes over 
the youthful maiden's heart, as sweet and transient as 
her own breath upon a mirror ; nor was it till she 
heard the lute of Feramorz, touched lightly at the door 
of her pavilion, that she waked from the reverie in 
which she had been wandering. Instantly her eyes 
were lighted up with pleasure, and, after a few unheard 
remarks from Fadladeen upon the indecorum of a 
poet seating himself in presence of a princess, every- 
thing was arranged as on the preceding evening, and 
all listened with eagerness, while the story was thus 
continued : — 

Whose are the gilded tents that crowd the way, 
Where all was waste and silent yesterday ? 
This City of War which, in a few short hours, 
Hath sprung up here, as if the magic powers 
Of him who, in the twinkUng of a star, 
Built the high pillar'd walls of Chilminar, 
Had conjured up, far as the eye can see, 
This world of tents and domes and sun-bright 
armory ! — 



LALLA ROOKH. 85 

Princely pavilions, screen'd by many a fold 
Of crimson cloth, and topp'd with balls of gold ; 
Steeds, with their housings of rich silver spun, 
Their chains and poitrels glittering in the sun ; 
And camels, tufted o'er with Yemen's shells, 
Shaking in every breeze their light-toned bells ! 

But yester-eve, so motionless around. 
So mute was this wide plain, that not a sound 
But the far torrent, or the locust-bird 
Hunting among the thickets, could be heard ; 
Yet, hark ! what discords now, of every kind. 
Shouts, laughs, and screams, are revelling in the wind 1 
The neigh of cavalry ; the tinkling throngs 
Of laden camels and their drivers' songs ; 
Ringing of arms, and flapping in the breeze 
Of streamers from ten thousand canopies ; 
War-music, bursting out from time to time 
With gong and tymbalon's tremendous chime ; 
Or, in the pause, when harsher sounds are mute, 
The mellow breathings of some horn or flute. 
That far off, broken by the eagle note 
Of th' Abyssinian trumpet, swell and float ! 

Who leads this mighty army ? — ask ye " who ? '' 
And mark ye not those banners of dark hue. 
The Night and Shadow, over yonder tent ! — 
It is the Caliph's glorious armament. 
Roused in his palace by the dread alarms, 
That hourly came, of the false Prophet's arms, 
And of his host of infidels, who hurl'd 



86 



LALLA ROOKH. 




Defiance fierce at Islam and the world : 
Though worn with Grecian warfare, and behind 
The veils of his bright palace calm reclined, 
Yet brook'd he not such blasphemy should stain. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



87 




Thus unrevenged, the evening of his reign, 
But, having sworn upon the Holy Grave 
To conquer or to perish, once more gave 
His shadowy banners proudly to the breeze. 
And with an army nursed in victories, 
Here stands to crush the rebels that o'errun 
His blest and beauteous province of the sun. 



:88 LALLA ROOKH. 

Ne'er did the march of Mahadi display 
Such pomp before ; — not e'en when on his way 
To Mecca's temple, when both land and sea 
Were spoil'd to feed the pilgrim's luxury ; 
When round him, 'mid the burning sands, he saw 
Fruits of the north in icy freshness thaw, 
And cool'd his thirsty lip, beneath the glow 
Of Mecca's sun, with urns of Persian snow ; — 
Nor e'er did armament more grand than that 
Pour from the kingdoms of the Caliphat. 
First, in the van, the People of the Rock, 
On their light mountain steeds, of royal stock ; 
Then chieftains of Damascus, proud to see 
The flashing of their swords' rich marquetry ; — 
Men from the regions near the Volga's mouth, 
Mix'd with the rude, black archers of the south ; 
And Indian lancers, in white-turban'd ranks 
From the far Sinde, or Attock's sacred banks, 
With dusky legions from the Land of Myrrh, 
And many a mace-arm'd Moor and Mid-Sea islander. 

Nor less in number, though more new and rude 
In warfare's school, was the vast multitude 
That, fired by zeal, or by oppression wrong'd. 
Round the white standard of th' impostor throng'd. 
Beside his thousands of believers, — blind. 
Burning and headlong as the Samiel wind, — 
Many who felt, and more who fear'd to feel, 
The bloody Islamite's converting steel, 
Flock'd to his banner; — chiefs of th' Uzbek race, 
Waving their heron crests with martial grace ; 



LALLA ROOKH. 89 

Turkomans, countless as their flocks, led forth 

From th' aromatic pastures of the north ; 

Wild warriors of the turquoise hills, — and those 

Who dwell beyond the everlasting snows 

Of Hindoo Kosh, in stormy freedom bred, 

Their fort the rock, their camp the torrent's bed. 

But none, of all who own'd the Chief's command, 

Rush'd to that battle-field with bolder hand 

Or sterner hate than Iran's outlaw'd men, 

Her Worshippers of Fire, — all panting then 

For vengeance on th' accursed Saracen ; 

Vengeance at last for their dear country spurn'd, 

Her throne usurp'd, and her bright shrines o'erturn'd. 

From Yezd's eternal Mansion of the Fire, 

Where aged saints in dreams of heaven expire ; 

From Badku, and those fountains of blue flame 

That burn into the Caspian, — fierce they came ; 

Careless for what or whom the blow was sped, 

So vengeance triumphed, and their tyrants bled 1 

Such was the wild and miscellaneous host 
That high in air their motley banners toss'd 
Around the Prophet-Chief, — all eyes still bent 
Upon that glittering Veil, where'er it went. 
That beacon through the battle's stormy flood. 
That rainbow of the field, whose showers were blood 1' 

Twice hath the sun upon their conflict set. 
And ris'n again, and found them grappling yet ; 
While streams of carnage, in his noontide blaze, 
Smoke up to heaven, — hot as that crimson haze, 



90 



LALLA ROOKH. 




By which the prostrate caravan ^^^ 
is awed, 
'\ In the red Desert, when the wind's abroad ! 
" On, Swords of God ! " the panting Caliph 

calls, — 
" Thrones for the living, — heaven for him who 

falls ! " 
"On, brave avengers, on," Mokanna cries, 



LALLA ROOKH. 



9^ 



"TTl 




.Ur-'^\ 



" And Eblis blast the recreant slave that flies ! " 

Now comes the brunt, the crisis of the clay — 

They clash — they strive — the Caliph's troops give 

^^'ay ! 
Mokanna's self plucks the black Banner down, 



92 LALLA ROOKH. 

And now the Orient World's imperial crown 

Is just within his grasp — when, hark, that shout ! 

Some hand hath check'd the flying Moslem's rout 

And now they turn — they rally — at their head 

A warrior (like those angel youths, who led, 

In glorious panoply of heaven's own mail. 

The Champions of the Faith through Beder's vale). 

Bold as if gifted with ten thousand lives. 

Turns on the fierce pursuers' blades, and drives 

At once the multitudinous torrent back. 

While hope and courage kindle in his track. 

And, at each step, his bloody falchion makes 

Terrible vistas through which victory breaks ! 

In vain Mokanna, 'midst the general flight. 

Stands, like the red moon, on some stormy night, 

Among the fugitive clouds that, hurrying by, 

Leave only her unshaken in the sky ! — 

In vain he yells his desperate curses out. 

Deals death promiscuously to all about. 

To foes that charge and coward friends that fly, 

And seems of all the great Arch-enemy ! 

The panic spreads — " a miracle ! " throughout 

The Moslem ranks, " a miracle ! " they shout. 

All gazing on that youth, whose coming seems 

A light, a glory, such as breaks in dreams ; 

And every sword, true as o'er billows dim 

The needle tracks the loadstar, following him ! 

Right tow'rds Mokanna now he cleaves his path, 
Impatient cleaves, as though the bolt of wrath 
He bears from heaven withheld its awful burst 



LALLA ROOKH. 93 

From weaker heads, and souls but half-way curst, 
To break o'er him, the mightiest and the worst ! 
But vain his speed — though, in that hour of blood, 
Had all God's seraphs round Mokanna stood. 
With swords of fire, ready like fate to fall, 
Mokanna's soul would have defied them all ; — 
Yet now the rush of fugitives, too strong 
For human force, hurries even him along ; 
In vain he struggles 'mid the wedged array 
Of flying thousands, — he is borne away ; 
And the sole joy his baffled spirit knows 
In this forced flight is — murdering as he goes! 
As a grim tiger, whom the torrent's might 
Surprises in some parch'd ravine at night, 
Turns, even in drowning, on the wretched flocks 
Swept with him in that snow-flood from the rocks, 
And, to the last, devouring on his way. 
Bloodies the stream he hath not power to stay ! 

" Alia ilia Alia ! " the glad shout renew — 
" Alia Akbar ! " — the Caliph's in Merou. 
Hang out your gilded tapestry in the streets. 
And light your shrines and chant your ziraleets ; 
The Swords of God have triumph'd, — on his throne 
Your Caliph sits, and the Veil'd Chief hath flown. 
Who does not envy that young warrior now. 
To whom the Lord of Islam bends his brow, 
In all the graceful gratitude of power. 
For his throne's safety in that perilous hour ? 
Who doth not wonder, when, amidst th' acclaim 
Of thousands, heralding to heaven his name, — 



■94 LALLA ROOKH. 

'Mid all those holier harmonies of fame, 
Which sound along the path of virtuous souls, 
Like music round a planet as it rolls ! — 
He turns away, coldly, as if some gloom 
Hung o'er his heart no triumphs can illume, — 
Some sightless grief, upon whose blasted gaze 
Though glory's light may play, in vain it plays ! 
Yes, wretched Azim ! thine is such a grief. 
Beyond all hope, all terror, all relief ; 
A dark, cold calm, which nothing now can break. 
Or warm, or brighten, — like that Syrian lake 
Upon whose surface morn and summer shed 
Their smiles in vain, for all beneath is dead ! — 
Hearts there have been, o'er which this weight of woe 
Came, by long use of suffering, tame and slow ; 
But thine, lost youth ! was sudden, — over thee 
It broke at once, when all seem'd ecstasy ; 
When Hope look'd up, and saw the gloomy past 
Melt into splendour, and Bliss dawn at last, — 
'Twas then,- even then, o'er joys so freshly blown. 
This mortal blight of misery came down ; 
Even then the full, warm gushings of thy heart 
Were check'd, — like fount-drops, frozen as they start ! 
And there, like them, cold, sunless relics hang, 
Each fix'd and chill'd into a lasting pang ! 

One sole desire, one passion now remains. 
To keep life's fever still within his veins, — 
Vengeance ! — dire vengeance on the wretch who cast 
O'er him and all he loved that ruinous blast. 
For this, when rumours reach'd him in his flight 



LALLA ROOKH. 



95 




Far, far away, after that fatal 

night, — 
Rumours of armies, throng- 



^J5M|"' 



ing to th' attack 



96 LALLA ROOKH. 

Of the Veil'd Chief, — for this he wing'd him back, 

Fleet as the vulture speeds to flags unfurl'd, 

And, when all hope seem'd desperate, wildly hurl'd 

Himself into the scale, and saved a world ! 

For this he still lives on, careless of all 

The wreaths that glory on his path lets fall; 

For this alone exists, — like lightning fire 

To speed one bolt of vengeance, and expire ! 

But safe as yet that Spirit of Evil lives ; 
With a small band of desperate fugitives, 
The last sole stubborn fragment left unriven 
Of the proud host that late stood fronting heaven, 
He gain'd Merou, — breathed a short curse of blood 
O'er his lost throne, — then pass'd the Jihon's flood. 
And gathering all whose madness of belief 
Still saw a saviour in their down-fallen Chief, 
Raised the white banner within Neksheb's gates. 
And there, untamed, th' approaching conqueror waits. 

Of all his haram, all that busy hive. 
With music and with sweets sparkling alive. 
He took but one, the partner of his flight, — 
One, not for love, not for her beauty's light — 
No, Zelica stood withering 'midst the gay. 
Wan as the blossom that fell yesterday 
From th' Alma tree and dies, while overhead 
To-day's young flower is springing in its stead ! 
Oh, not for love, — the deepest damn'd must be 
Touch'd with heaven's glory, ere such fiends as he 
Can feel one glimpse of love's divinity ! 



LALLA ROOKH. 97 

But no, she is his victim ; there Ue all 

Her charms for him, — charms that can never pall, 

As long as hell within his heart can stir, 

Or one faint trace of heaven is left in her. 

To work an angel's ruin, — to behold 

As white a page as virtue e'er unroll'd 

Blacken, beneath his touch, into a scroll 

Of damning sins, seal'd with a burning soul, — 

This is his triumph ; this the joy accursed, 

That ranks him among demons all but first ! 

This gives the victim, that before him lies 

Blighted and lost, a glory in his eyes, 

A light like that with which hell-fire illumes 

The ghastly, writhing wretch whom it consumes ! 

But other tasks now wait him, — tasks that need 
All the deep daringness of thought and deed 
With which the Dives have gifted him ; for mark. 
Over yon plains, which night had else made dark, 
Those lanterns, countless as the wdnged lights 
That spangle India's fields on showery nights. 
Far as their formidable gleams they shed. 
The mighty tents of the beleaguerer spread. 
Glimmering along th' horizon's dusky line. 
And thence in nearer circles, till they shine 
Among the founts and groves, o'er w^hich the town 
In all its arm'd magnificence looks down. 
Yet, fearless, from his lofty battlements 
Mokanna views that multitude of tents ; 
Nay, smiles to think that, though entoil'd, beset. 
Not less than myriads dare to front him yet, — 



98 LALLA ROOKH. 

That friendless, throneless, he thus stands at bay, 

Even thus a match for myriads such as they ! 

" Oh for a sweep of that dark Angel's wing, 

Who brush'd the thousands of th' Assyrian king 

To darkness in a moment, that I might 

People hell's chambers with yon host to-night ! 

But come what may, let who will grasp the throne. 

Caliph or prophet, Man alike shall groan ; 

Let who will torture him, priest, caliph, king, — 

Alike this loathsome world of his shall ring 

With victims' shrieks and howlings of the slave, — 

Sounds that shall glad me even within my grave ! " 

Thus to himself — but to the scanty train, 

Still left around him, a far different strain : 

" Glorious defenders of the sacred crown 

I bear from heaven, whose light nor blood shall drown 

Nor shadow of earth eclipse ; before whose gems 

The paly pomp of this world's diadems. 

The crown of Gerashid, the pillar'd throne 

Of Parviz, and the heron crest that shone, 

Magnificent, o'er Ali's beauteous eyes, 

Fade like the stars when morn is in the skies ! 

Warriors, rejoice, — the port, to which we've pass'd 

O'er destiny's dark wave, beams out at last : 

Victory's our own, — 'tis written in that book 

Upon whose leaves none but the angels look. 

That Islam's sceptre shall beneath the power 

Of her great foe fall broken in that hour 

When the moon's mighty orb before all eyes 

From Neksheb's Holy Well portentously shall rise I 

Now turn and see ! — " 



LALLA ROOKH. 



99 




They turn'd, and, as he spoke, 
A sudden splendour all around 

them broke ; 
And they beheld an orb, ample 



and bright. 



Rise from the Holy Well, and 
cast its light 
Round the rich city and the plain for miles, 
Flinging such radiance o'er the gilded tiles 



100 LALLA ROOKH. 

Of many a dome and fair-roof d imaret 

As autumn suns shed round them when they set ! 

Instant from all who saw th' illusive sign, 

A murmur broke, — " Miraculous ! divine ! " 

The Gheber bow'd, thinking his idol star 

Had waked, and burst impatient through the bar 

Of midnight to inflame him to the war ! 

While he of Moussa's creed saw in that ray 

The glorious light which, in his freedom's day, 

Had rested on the Ark, and now again 

Shone out to bless the breaking of his chain ! 

" To victory ! " is at once the cry of all — 
Nor stands Mokanna loitering at that call ; 
But instant the huge gates are flung aside. 
And forth, like a diminutive mountain-tide 
Into the boundless sea, they speed their course 
Right on into the Moslem's mighty force. 
The watchmen of the camp — who, in their rounds. 
Had paused, and even forgot the punctual sounds 
Of the small drum with which they count the night, 
To gaze upon that supernatural light — 
Now sink beneath an unexpected arm. 
And in a death-groan give their last alarm. 
^' On for the lamps that light yon lofty screen. 
Nor blunt your blades with massacre so mean ; 
There rests the Caliph — speed — one lucky lance 
May now achieve mankind's deliverance ! " 
Desperate the die, — such as they only cast. 
Who venture for a world, and stake their last. 
But Fate's no longer with him, — blade for blade 



LALLA ROOKH. lOI 

Springs up to meet them through the gUmmering 

shade ; 
And, as the clash is heard, new legions soon 
Pour to the spot, — like bees of Kauzeroon 
To the shrill timbrel's summons, — till at length 
The mighty camp swarms out in all its strength, 
And back to Neksheb's gates, covering the plain 
With random slaughter, drives the adventurous train ; 
Among the last of whom the Silver Veil 
Is seen glittering at times, like the white sail 
Of some toss'd vessel, on a stormy night. 
Catching the tempest's momentary light. 

And hath not this brought the proud spirit low, 
Nor dash'd his brow, nor check'd his daring? No ! 
Though half the wretches whom at night he led 
To thrones and victory, lie disgraced and dead. 
Yet morning hears him, with unshrinking crest. 
Still vaunt of thrones and victory to the rest ; 
And they believe him ! — oh ! the lover may 
Distrust that look that steals his soul away ; 
The babe may cease to think that it can play 
With heaven's rainbow ; alchemists may doubt 
The shining gold their crucible gives out; — 
But Faith, fanatic Faith, once wedded fast 
To some dear falsehood, hugs it to the last. 

And well th' impostor knew ail lures and arts 
That Lucifer e'er taught to tangle hearts ; 
Nor, 'mid these last bold workings of his plot 
Against men's souls, is Zelica forgot. 



102 LALLA ROOKH. 

Ill-fated Zelica ! had reason been 

Awake, through half the horrors thou hast seen, 

Thou never couldst have borne it, — death had come 

At once, and taken thy wrung spirit home. 

But 'twas not so, — a torpor, a suspense 

Of thought, almost of life, came o'er th' intense 

And passionate struggles of that fearful night, 

When her last hope of peace and heaven took flight ; 

And though, at times, a gleam of frenzy broke, — 

As through some dull volcano's veil of smoke 

Ominous flashings now and then will start, 

Which show the fire still busy at its heart ; 

Yet was she mostly wrapp'd in sullen gloom, — 

Not such as Azim's, brooding o'er its doom. 

And calm without, as is the brow of death, 

While busy worms are gnawing underneath ! — 

But in a blank and pulseless torpor, free 

From thought of pain, a seal'd up apathy, 

Which left her oft, with scarce one living thrill, 

The cold, pale victim of her torturer's will. 

Again, as in Merou, he had her deck'd 
Gorgeously out, the Priestess of the sect; 
And led her glittering forth before the eyes 
Of his rude train, as to a sacrifice ; 
Pallid as she, the young, devoted Bride 
Of the fierce Nile, when, deck'd in all the pride 
Of nuptial pomp, she sinks into his tide ! 
And while the wretched maid hung down her head^ 
And stood, as one just risen from the dead, 
Amid that gazing crowd, the fiend would tell 



LALLA ROOKH. 



103 




His credulous slaves it was 
some charm or spell 

Possess'd her now, and from 
that darken'd trance 



Should dawn erelong thei-r 
faith's deliverance. 
Or if at times, goaded by guilty 
shame. 
Her soul was roused, and words of wild- 

ness came, 
Instant the bold blasphemer would trans- 
late 
Her ravings into oracles of fate. 
Would hail heaven's signals in her flash- 
ing eyes. 
And call her shrieks the language of the 
skies ! 



But vain at length his arts, — despair is seen 
Gathering around ; and famine comes to glean 
All that the sword had left unreap'd ; — in vain 
At morn and eve across the northern plain 



104 



LALLA ROOKH. 



He looks impatient for the promised 
spears 

Of the wild hordes and Tartar moun- 
taineers ; 

They come not, — while his fierce 
beleaguerers pour 

Engines of havoc in, unknown 
before, 

And horrible as new ; — javelins 
that fly 

Enwreathed with smoky 
flames through the dark 
sky ; 

And red-hot globes that, 
opening as they 
mount. 

Discharge, as from a 
kindled naphtha 
fount. 

Showers of con- 
suming 
fire o'er 
all be- 
low, — 




LALLA ROOKH. 105 

Looking, as through th' illumined night they go, 
Like those wild birds that by the Magians oft, 
At festivals of fire, were sent aloft 
Into the air, with blazing fagots tied 
To their huge wings, scattering combustion wide ! 
All night the groans of wretches who expire 
In agony beneath these darts of fire. 
Ring through the city ; while, descending o'er 
Its shrines and domes and streets of sycamore, — - 
Its lone bazars, with their bright cloths of gold. 
Since the last peaceful pageant left unroll'd, — 
Its beauteous marble baths, whose idle jets 
Now gush with blood, — and its tall minarets. 
That late have stood up in the evening glare 
Of the red sun, unhallow'd by a prayer, — 
O'er each, in turn, the dreadful flame-bolts fall, 
And death and conflagration throughout all 
The desolate city hold high festival ! 

Mokanna sees the world is his no more , 
One sting at parting, and his grasp is o'er. 
" What ! drooping now ? " — thus with unblushing 

cheek, 
He hails the few who yet can hear him speak. 
Of all those famish'd slaves around him lying. 
And by the light of blazing temples dying, — 
" What ! drooping now ? — now, when at length we press 
Home o'er the very threshold of success ; 
When Alia from our ranks hath thinn'd away 
Those grosser branches, that kept out his ray 
Of favour from us, and we stand at length 



I06 LALLA ROOKH. 

Heirs of his light and children of his strength, — 

The chosen few, who shall survive the fall 

Of kings and thrones, triumphant over all ! 

Have you then lost, weak murmurers as you are, 

All faith in him who was your Light, your Star ? 

Have you forgot the eyes of glory hid 

Beneath this Veil, the flashing of whose lid 

Could, like a sun-stroke of the desert, wither 

Millions of such as yonder chief brings hither ? 

Long have its lightnings slept, — too long, — but now, 

All earth shall feel th' unveiling of this brow ! 

To-night, — yes, sainted men ! this very night, 

I bid you all to a fair festal rite, 

Where, having deep refresh'd each weary limb 

With viands, such as feast heaven's cherubim. 

And kindled up your souls, now sunk and dim, 

With that pure wine the Dark-eyed Maids above 

Keep, seal'd with precious musk, for those they love, 

I will myself uncurtain in your sight 

The wonders of this brow's ineffable light ; 

Then lead you forth, and with a wink disperse 

Yon myriads, howling through the universe ! " 

Eager they listen, while each accent darts 
New life into their chill'd and hope-sick hearts, — 
Such treacherous life as the cool draught supplies 
To him upon the stake, who drinks and dies ! 
Wildly they point their lances to the light 
Of the fast-sinking sun, and shout " To-night 1 " — • 
^' To-night," their Chief re-echoes, in a voice 
Of fiend-like mockery that bids hell rejoice ! 



LALLA ROOKH. 10/ 

Deluded victims — never hath this earth 

Seen mourning half so mournful as their mirth ! 

Here^ to the few whose iron frames had stood 

This racking waste of famine and of blood, 

Faint, dying wretches clung, from whom the shout 

Of triumph like a maniac's laugh broke out ; 

T/iere^ others, lighted by the smouldering fire. 

Danced, like wan ghosts about a funeral pyre, 

Among the dead and dying, strew'd around ; 

While some pale wretch look'd on, and from his 

wound 
Plucking the fiery dart by which he bled. 
In ghastly transport waved it o'er his head ! 

'Twas more than midnight now, — a fearful pause 
Had foUow'd the long shout, the wild applause. 
That lately from those Royal Gardens burst. 
Where the Veil'd Demon held his feast accurst. 
When Zelica — alas, poor ruin'd heart. 
In every horror doom'd to bear its part ! — 
Was bidden to the banquet by a slave. 
Who, while his quivering lip the summons gave, 
■Grew black, as though the shadows of the grave 
Compass'd him round, and, ere he could repeat 
His message through, fell lifeless at her feet ! 
Shuddering she went : a soul-felt pang of fear, 
A presage, that her own dark doom was near, 
Roused every feeling, and brought reason back 
Once more, to writhe her last upon the rack. 
All round seem'd tranquil, — even the foe had ceased, 
As if aware of that demoniac feast, 



io8 



LALLA ROOKH. 



His fiery bolts ; and though the heavens look'd red, 

'Twas but some distant conflagration's spread. 

But, hark ! — she stops — she listens — dreadful tone ! 

'Tis her Tormentor's laugh ; and now, a groan, 

A long death-groan, comes with it, — can this be 

The place of mirth, the bower of revelry ? 

She enters, — holy 
Alia, what a sight 
Was there before 
her ! By the 
limmering light 
Of the pale dawn, 
mix'd with the 
flare of brands 
That round lay 
burning, dropp'd 
from lifeless 
hands. 




LALLA ROOKH. 



109 



She saw the board, in splendid mockery spread, 
Rich censers breathing, — garlands 

overhead, — 
The urns, the cups, from which /^P', 

they late had quaff'd, 




no LALLA ROOKH. 

All gold and gems, but — what had been the draught ? 

Oh ! who need ask that saw those livid guests, 

With their swollen heads sunk blackening on their 

breasts. 
Or looking pale to heaven with glassy glare 
As if they sought, but saw, no mercy there ; 
As if they felt, though poison rack'd them through, 
Remorse the deadlier torment of the two ! 
While some, the bravest, hardiest in the train 
Of their false Chief, who on the battle-plain 
Would have met death with transport by his side, 
Here mute and helpless gasp'd ; but, as they died, 
Look'd horrible vengeance with their eyes' last strain, 
And clench'd the slackening hand at him in vain. 

Dreadful it was to see the ghastly stare. 
The stony look of horror and despair, 
Which some of these expiring victims cast 
Upon their soul's tormentor to the last, — 
Upon that mocking fiend, whose Veil, now raised, 
Show'd them, as in death's agony they gazed. 
Not the long-promised light, the brow, whose beaming 
Was to come forth, all conquering, all redeeming. 
But features horribler than hell e'er traced 
On its own brood ; — no demon of the waste. 
No churchyard ghole, caught lingering in the light 
Of the bless'd sun, e'er blasted human sight 
With lineaments so foul, so fierce, as those 
Th' impostor now, in grinning mockery, shows : 
"There, ye wise saints, behold your Light, your 
Star, — 



LALLA ROOKH. Ill 

Ye would be dupes and victims, and ye are. 

Is it enough ? or must I, while a thrill 

Lives in your sapient bosoms, cheat you still ? 

Swear that the burning death ye feel within 

Is but the trance with which heaven's joys begin ; 

That this foul visage, foul as e'er disgraced 

Even monstrous man, is — after God's own taste ; 

And that — but see ! — ere I have half-way said 

My greetings through, th' uncourteous souls are fled. 

Parewell, sweet spirits ! not in vain ye die. 

If Eblis loves you half so well as I. — 

Ha, my young bride ! — 'tis well, — take thou thy 

seat ; 
Nay, come — no shuddering — didst thou never meet 
The dead before ? — they graced our wedding, sweet ; 
And these, my guests to-night, have brimm'd so true 
Their parting cups, that thou shalt pledge one too. 
But — how is this ? — all empty ? all drunk up ? 
Hot lips have been before thee in the cup, 
Young bride, — yet stay — one precious drop remains. 
Enough to warm a gentle Priestess' veins ; 
Here, drink, — and should thy lover's conquering 

arms 
Speed hither, ere thy lip lose all its charms, 
Give him but half this venom in thy kiss. 
And I'll forgive my haughty rival's bliss ! 

" For mc — I too must die ; but not like these 
Vile, rankling things, to fester in the breeze, — 
To have this brow in ruffian triumph shown. 
With all death's grimness added to its own. 



TI2 



LALLA ROOKH. 



^ 



And rot to dust beneath the taunting 



eyes 



Of slaves, exclaiming, 'There his Godship 

lies ! ' — 
No ; cursed race, — since first my soul drew 

breath. 
They've been my dupes, and s/ta/l be, even in 

death. 
Thou see'st yon cistern in the shade, — 'tis 

mi'd 
With burning drugs, for this last hour distill'd ; 
There will I plunge me in that liquid flame, — 
Fit bath to lave a dying prophet's frame ! — 
There perish, all, — ere pulse of thine shall 

fail, — 

Nor leave one limb to tell mankind the tale. 
So shall my votaries, wheresoe'er they rave, 
Proclaim that Heaven took back the saint 



h 



That I've but vanish'd from 
this earth awhile, 




LALLA ROOKH. 113 

To come again with bright unshrouded smile ! 

So shall they build me altars in their zeal, 

Where knaves shall minister and fools shall kneel ; 

Where Faith may mutter o'er her mystic spell, 

Written in blood, and Bigotry may swell 

The sail he spreads for heaven with blasts from hell ! 

So shall my banner through long ages be 

The rallying sign of fraud and anarchy ; 

Kings yet unborn shall rue Mokanna's name, 

And, though I die, my spirit, still the same, 

Shall w^alk abroad in all the stormy strife. 

And guilt, and blood, that were its bliss in life ! 

But, hark ! their battering-engine shakes the wall — 

Why, let it shake — thus I can brave them all. 

No trace of me shall greet them, when they come. 

And I can trust thy faith, for — thou'lt be dumb. 

Now mark how readily a wretch like me, 

In one bold plunge, commences Deity!" — 

He sprung and sunk, as the last words were said : 
Quick closed the burning waters o'er his head. 
And Zelica was left — within the ring 
Of those wide walls the only living thing ; 
The only wretched one, still cursed with breath. 
In all that frightful wilderness of death ! 
More like some bloodless ghost, — such as, they tell, 
In the lone Cities of the Silent dwell, 
And there, unseen by all but Alia, sit 
Each by its own pale carcass, watching it. 

But morn is up, and a fresh warfare stirs 
Throughout the camp of the beleaguerers. 



114 



LALLa rookh. 



Their globes of fire (the dread artiller)^, lent 
By Greece to conquering Mahadi) are spent ; 
And now the scorpion's shaft, the quarry sent 

From high ballistas,. 
and the shielded 
throng 

Of soldiers swinging 
the huge ram 
along, — 

All speak th' impa- 
tient Islamite's in- 
tent 

To try, at length, if 
tower and battle- 
ment 

And bastion'd wall be 
not less hard to 
win, 

Less tough to break 
down, than the 
hearts within. 

First in impatience 
and in toil is he. 

The burning Azim — 
oh ! could he but 
see 

Th' impostor once 
alive within his 
grasp. 

Not the gaunt lion's 
hug, nor boa's clasp,, 




LALLA ROOKH. II5 

Could match that gripe of vengeance, or keep pace 
With the fell heartiness of hate's embrace ! 



Loud rings the ponderous ram against the walls ; 
Now shake the ramparts, now a buttress falls, 
But still no breach — " Once more, one mighty swing 
Of all your beams, together thundering! " 
There — the wall shakes ; the shouting troops exult — 
" Quick, quick discharge your weightiest catapult 
Right on that spot, and Neksheb is our own ! " 
'Tis done, — the battlements come crashing down ; 
And the huge wall, by that stroke riven in two. 
Yawning like some old crater, rent anew. 
Shows the dim, desolate city smoking through ! 
But strange ! no signs of life, — nought living seen 
Above, below, — what can this stillness mean ? 
A minute's pause suspends all hearts and eyes — 
'' In through the breach," impetuous Azim cries ; 
But the cool Caliph, fearful of some wile 
In this blank stillness, checks the troops awhile. 
Just then a figure, with slow step, advanced 
Forth from the ruin'd walls, and, as there glanced 
A sunbeam over it, all eyes could see 
The well-known Silver Veil ! — " 'Tis he, 'tis he, 
Mokanna, and alone ! " they shout around ; 
Young Azim from his steed springs to the ground — 
" Mine, holy Caliph ! mine," he cries, "the task 
To crush yon daring wretch, — 'tis all I ask." 
Eager he darts to meet the demon foe, 
Who, still across wide heaps of ruin, slow 
And falteringly comes, till they are near ; 



Il6 LALLA ROOKH. 

Then, with a bound, rushes on Azim's spear, 
And casting off the Veil in falling, shows — 
Oh ! — 'tis his Zelica's life-blood that flows ! 

" I meant not, Azim," soothingly she said, 
As on his trembling arm she lean'd her head, 
And, looking in his face, saw anguish there 
Beyond all wounds the quivering flesh can bear — 
" I meant not thou shouldst have the pain of this ; - 
Though death, with thee thus tasted, is a bliss 
Thou wouldst not rob me of, didst thou but know 
How oft I've pray'd to God I might die so ! 
But the fiend's venom was too scant and slow ; — 
To linger on were maddening — and I thought 
If once that Veil — nay, look not on it — caught 
The eyes of your fierce soldiery, I should be 
Struck by a thousand death-darts instantly. 
But this is sweeter — oh, believe me, yes — 
I would not change this sad, but dear caress, 
This death within thy arms I would not give 
For the most smiling life the happiest live ! 
All, that stood dark and drear before the eye 
Of my stray'd soul, is passing swiftly by : 
A light comes o'er me from those looks of love, 
Like the first dawn of mercy from above ; 
And if thy lips but tell me I'm forgiven, 
Angels will echo the blest words in heaven ! 
But live, my Azim ; — oh ! to call thee mine 
Thus once again ! my Azim — dream divine ! 
Live, if thou ever lovedst me, if to meet 
Thv Zelica hereafter would be sweet, — 



LALLA ROOKH. II7 

Oh, live to pray for her — to bend the knee 

Morning and night before that Deity, 

To whom pure lips and hearts without a stain, 

As thine are, Azim, never breathed in vain, 

And pray that He may pardon her, — may take 

Compassion on her soul for thy dear sake. 

And nought remembering but her love to thee, 

Make her all thine, all His, eternally ! 

Go to those happy fields where first we twined 

Our youthful hearts together, — every wind 

That meets thee there, fresh from the well-known 

flowers. 
Will bring the sweetness of those innocent hours 
Back to thy soul, and thou mayst feel again 
For thy poor Zelica as thou didst then. 
So shall thy orisons, like dew that flies 
To heaven upon the morning's sunshine, rise 
With all love's earliest ardour to the skies ! 

And should they — but alas ! my senses fail 

Oh, for one minute ! ^should thy prayers prevail 

If pardon'd souls may from that World of Bliss 
Reveal their joy to those they love in this, — 
I'll come to thee — in some sweet dream — and tell — 
O Heaven — I die — dear love ! farewell, farewell." 

Time fleeted, — years on years had pass'd aw^ay. 
And few of those who on that mournful day 
Had stood, with pity in their eyes, to see 
The maiden's death and the youth's agony. 
Were living still, — when, by a rustic grave 
Beside the swift Amoo's transparent wave. 



Il8 LALLA ROOKH. 

An aged man, who had grown aged there 

By that lone grave, morning and night in prayer, 

For the last time knelt down ; and, though the shade 

Of death hung darkening over him, there play'd 

A gleam of rapture on his eye and cheek. 

That brighten'd even death, — like the last streak 

Of intense glory on th' horizon's brim, 

When night o'er all the rest hangs chill and dim. 

His soul had seen a vision, while he slept ; 

She for whose spirit he had pray'd and wept 

So many years, had come to him, all dress'd 

In angel smiles, and told him she was blest ! 

For this the old man breathed his thanks, and died — 

And there, upon the banks of that loved tide, 

He and his Zelica sleep side by side. 

The story of the Veiled Prophet of Khorassan be- 
ing ended, they were now doomed to hear Fadladeen's 
criticisms upon it. A series of disappointments and 
accidents had occurred to this learned Chamberlain 
during the journey. In the first place, those couriers 
stationed, as in the reign of Shah Jehan, between 
Delhi and the western coast of India, to secure a con- 
stant supply of mangoes for the Royal Table, had, 
by some cruel irregularity, failed in their duty ; and 
to eat any mangoes but those of Mazagong was, of 
course, impossible. In the next place, the elephant 
laden with his fine antique porcelain had, in an un- 
usual fit of liveliness, shattered the whole set to 
pieces, — an irreparable loss, as many of the vessels 
were so exquisitely old as to have been used under 



LALLA ROOKH. II9 

the Emperors Yan and Chun, who reigned many 
ages before the dynasty of Tang. His Koran too, 
supposed to be the identical copy between the leaves 
of which Mahomet's favourite pigeon used to nestle, 
had been mislaid by his Koran-bearer three whole 
days ; not without much spiritual alarm to Fadla- 
deen, who, though professing to hold, with other loyal 
and orthodox Mussulmans, that salvation could only 
be found in the Koran, was strongly suspected of 
believing in his heart that it could only be found in 
his own particular copy of it. When to all these 
grievances is added the obstinacy of the cooks, in 
putting the pepper of Canara into his dishes instead 
of the cinnamon of Serendib, we may easily suppose 
that he came to the task of criticism with at least a 
sufficient degree of irritability for the purpose. 

" In order," said he, importantly swinging about 
his chaplet of pearls, " to convey with clearness my 
opinion of the story this young man has related, it is 
necessary to take a review of all the stories that have 
ever — " " My good Fadladeen ! " exclaimed the 
Princess, interrupting him, " we really do not de- 
serve that you should give yourself so much trouble. 
Your opinion of the poem we have just heard will, 
I have no doubt, be abundantly edifying, without 
any further waste of your valuable erudition." " If 
that be all," replied the critic, evidently mortified at 
not being allowed to show how much he knew about 
everything but the subject immediately before him, 
— " if that be all that is required, the matter is easily 
despatched." He then proceeded to analyse the 



I20 LALLA ROOKH. 

poem, in that strain (so well known to the unfortu- 
nate bards of Delhi) whose censures were an infliction 
from which few recovered, and whose very praises 
were like the honey extracted from the bitter flowers 
of the aloe. The chief personages of the story were, 
if he rightly understood them, an ill-favoured gentle- 
man, with a veil over his face ; a young lady, whose 
reason went and came according as it suited the 
poet's convenience to be sensible or otherwise ; and 
a youth in one of those hideous Bucharian bonnets, 
who took the aforesaid gentleman in a veil for a 
Divinity. " From such materials," said he, " what 
can be expected ? After rivalling each other in long 
speeches and absurdities, through some thousands of 
lines as indigestible as the filberds of Berdaa, our 
friend in the veil jumps into a tub of aqua-fortis ; the 
young lady dies in a set speech, whose only recom- 
mendation is that it is her last ; and the lover lives 
on to a good old age, for the laudable purpose of 
seeing her ghost, which he at last happily accom- 
plishes and expires. This, you will allpw, is a fair 
summary of the story; and if Nasser, the Arabian 
merchant, told no better, our Holy Prophet (to whom 
be all honour and glory !) had no need to be jealous 
of his abilities for story-telling." 

With respect to the style, it w^as worthy of the 
matter ; it had not even those politic contrivances 
of structure which make up for the commonness of 
the thoughts by the peculiarity of the manner, nor 
that stately poetical phraseology by which sentiments 
mean in themselves, like the blacksmith's apron con- 



LALLA ROOKH. 121 

verted into a banner, are so easily gilt and embroidered 
into consequence. Then, as to the versification it was, 
to say no worse of it, execrable : it had neither the copi- 
ous flow of Ferdosi, the sweetness of Hafez, nor the 
sententious march of Sadi ; but appeared to him, in the 
uneasy heaviness of its movements, to have been 
modelled upon the gait of a very tired dromedary. 
The licenses, too, in which it indulged were unpardon- 
able ; for instance, this line, — and the poem abounded 
with such : — 

" Like the faint exquisite music of a dream." 

" What critic that can count," said Fadladeen, " and 
has his full complement of fingers to count withal,, 
would tolerate for an instant such syllabic superflui- 
ties ? " — He here looked round and discovered 
that most of his audience were asleep ; while the- 
glimmering lamps seemed inclined to follow their 
example. It became necessary, therefore, however 
painful to himself, to put an end to his valuable 
animadversions for the present, and he accordingly 
concluded, with an air of dignified candour, thus : 
" Notwithstanding the observations which I have 
thought it my duty to make, it is by no means my 
wish to discourage the young man ; — so far from 
it, indeed, that if he will but totally alter his style 
of writing and thinking, I have very little doubt that 
I shall be vastly pleased with him." 

Some days elapsed, after this harangue of the Great 
Chamberlain, before Lalla Rookh could venture to ask 



122 LALLA ROOKH. 

for another story. The youth was still a welcome 
guest in the pavilion, — to one heart, perhaps, too 
dangerously welcome, — but all mention of poetry was, 
as if by common consent, avoided. Though none of 
the party had much respect for Fadladeen, yet his 
censures, thus magisterially delivered, evidently made 
an impression on them all. The Poet himself, to 
whom criticism was quite a new operation (being 
wholly unknown in that Paradise of the Indies, Cash- 
mere), felt the shock as it is generally felt at first, till 
use has made it more tolerable to the patient; the 
ladies began to suspect that they ought not to be 
pleased, and seemed to conclude that there must have 
been much good sense in what Fadladeen said, from 
its having set them all so soundly to sleep ; while the 
self-complacent Chamberlain was left to triumph in 
the idea of having, for the hundred and fiftieth time 
in his life, extinguished a Poet. Lalla Rookh alone 
— and Love knew why — persisted in being delighted 
with all she had heard, and in resolving to hear more 
as speedily as possible. Her manner, however, of first 
returning to the subject was unlucky. It was while 
they rested during the heat of noon near a fountain, 
on which some hand had rudely traced those well- 
known words from the Garden of Sadi, — " Many, like 
me, have viewed this fountain ; but they are gone, and 
their eyes are closed for ever ! " — that she took occa- 
sion, from the melancholy beauty of this passage, to 
dwell upon the charms of poetry in general. " It is 
true," she said, " few poets can imitate that sublime 
bird which flies always in the air, and never touches 



LALLA ROOKH. 



123 



the earth : it is only once in many ages a Genius 
appears, whose words, like those on the Written Moun- 
tain, last for ever ; but still there are some, as delight- 
ful perhaps, though not so wonderful, who, if not stars 
over our head, are at least flowers along our path, and 
whose sweetness of the moment we ought gratefully to 
inhale, without calling upon them for a brightness and 
a durability beyond their nature. In short," continued 
she, blushing, as if conscious of being caught in an 
oration, " it is quite cruel that a poet cannot wander 
through his regions of enchantment, without having a 
critic for ever, like the Old Man of the Sea, upon his 
back ! " Fadladeen, it was plain, took this last luckless 
allusion to himself, and would treasure it up in his 
mind as a whetstone for his next criticism. A sudden 
silence ensued; and the Princess, glancing a look at 
Feramorz, saw plainly she must wait for a more cour- 
ageous moment. 

But the glories of Nature, and her wild, fragrant 
airs, playing freshly over the current of youthful 
spirits, will soon heal even deeper wounds than the 
dull Fadladeens of this world can inflict. In an even- 
ing or two after, they came to the small Valley of 
Gardens, which had been planted by order of the 
Emperor for his favourite sister Rochinara, during their 
progress to Cashmere, some years before; and never 
was there a more sparkling assemblage of sweets, 
since the Gulzar-e-Irem, or Rose-bower of Irem. Every 
precious flower was there to be found, that poetry or 
love or religion has ever consecrated ; from the dark 
hyacinth, to which Hafez compares his mistress's hair, 



124 LALLA ROOKH. 

to the Cdmalatd, by whose rosy blossoms the heaven 
of Indra is scented. As they sat in the cool fragrance 
of this delicious spot, and Lalla Rookh remarked that 
she could fancy it the abode of that Flower-loving 
Nymph whom they worship in the temples of Kathay, 
or of one of those Peris, those beautiful creatures of 
the air, who live upon perfumes, and to whom a place 
like this might make some amends for the Paradise 
they have lost, — the young Poet, in whose eyes she 
appeared, while she spoke, to be one of the bright 
spiritual creatures she was describing, said hesitatingly 
that he remembered a Story of a Peri, which, if the 
Princess had no objection, he would venture to relate. 
" It is," said he, with an appealing look to Fadladeen, 
" in a lighter and humbler strain than the other ; " 
then, striking a few careless but melancholy chords on 
his kitar, he thus began : 



LALLA ROOKH. 



125 




One morn a Peri at the gate 

Of Eden stood, disconsolate ; 

And as slie listened to the 
Springs 
Of Life within, like music 
flowing, 

And caught the light upon her 
wings 
Through the half-open portal 
glowing, 

She wept to think her recreant 
race 

Should e'er have lost that glori- 
ous place ! 

" How .happy," exclaim'd this 

child of air, 
" Are the holy spirits who 

wander there, 
'Mid flowers that never shall 

fade or fall ! 



126 LALLA ROOKH. 

Though mine are the gardens of earth and sea, 
And the stars themselves have flowers for me, 

One blossom of heaven out-blooms them all ! 
Though sunny the Lake of cool Cashmere, 
With its plane-tree isle reflected clear. 

And sweetly the founts of that valley fall ; 
Though bright are the waters of Sing-su-hay, 
And the golden floods, that thitherward stray, — 
Yet — oh, 'tis only the blest can say 

How the waters of heaven outshine them all ! 
Go, wing thy flight from star to star. 
From world to luminous world, as far 

As the universe spreads its flaming wall ; 
Take all the pleasures of all the spheres. 
And multiply each through endless years, 

One minute of heaven is worth them all ! " 

The glorious Angel who was keeping 
The gates of Light, beheld her weeping ; 
And as he nearer drew and listen'd 
To her sad song, a tear-drop glisten'd 
Within his eyelids, like the spray 

From Eden's fountain, when it lies 
On the blue flower which — Bramins say — 

Blooms nowhere but in Paradise ! 
" Nymph of a fair, but erring line ! " 
Gently he said, " one hope is thine, — 
'Tis written in the Book of Fate, — 

T/ie Pe7'i yet may be for given. 
Who h'iugs to this Eternal Gate 

The Gift that is most dear to Heaven ! 



LALLA ROOKH. 



27 




Go, seek it, and redeem thy sin ; — 
'Tis sweet to let the Pardon'd in ! " 

Rapidly as comets run 

To th' embraces of the sun ; 

Fleeter than the starry brands 

Flung at night from angel hands 

At those dark and daring sprites 

Who would climb th' empyreal heights, 

Down the blue vault the Peri flies, 




r 




■^^^^ 



128 LALLA ROOKH. 

And, lighted earthward by a glance 
That just then broke from morning's eyes, 
Hung hovering o'er our world's expanse. 

But whither shall the Spirit go 

To find this gift for heaven ? — "I know 

The wealth," she cries, " of every urn, 

In which unnumber'd rubies burn. 

Beneath the pillars of Chilminar ; 

I know where the Isles of Perfume are, 

Many a fathom down in the sea. 

To the south of sun-bright Araby ; 

I know too where the Genii hid 

The jewell'd cup of their king Jamshid, 

With life's elixir sparkling high ; — 

But gifts like these are not for the sky. 

Where was there ever a gem that shone 

Like the steps of Alla's wonderful Throne ? 

And the Drops of Life — oh ! what would they be 

In the boundless Deep of Eternity ? " 

While thus she mused, her pinions fann'd 
The air of that sweet Indian land, 
Whose air is balm ; whose ocean spreads 
O'er coral rocks and amber beds ; 
Whose mountains, pregnant by the beam 
Of the warm sun, with diamonds teem ; 
Whose rivulets are like rich brides. 
Lovely, with gold beneath their tides ; . 
Whose sandal groves and bowers of spice 
Might be a Peri's Paradise ! 



LALLA ROOKH. 1 29 

But crimson now her rivers ran 

With human blood, — the smell of death 
Came reeking from their spicy bowers ; 
And man, the sacrifice of man. 

Mingled his taint with every breath 
Upwafted from the innocent flowers ! 
Land of the Sun ! what foot invades 
Thy pagods and thy pillar'd shades, — 
Thy cavern shrines, and idol stones, 
Thy monarchs and their thousand thrones ? 
'Tis he of Gazna ; — fierce in wrath 

He comes, and India's diadems 
Lie scatter'd in his ruinous path, — 

His bloodhounds he adorns with gems, 
Torn from the violated necks 

Of many a young and loved Sultana ; 

Maidens wdthin their pure Zenana, 

Priests in the very fane he slaughters. 
And chokes up with the glittering wrecks 

Of golden shrines the sacred waters ! 

Downward the Peri turns her gaze. 
And through the war-field's bloody haze 
Beholds a youthful warrior stand. 

Alone, beside his native river, — 
The red blade brokeiT in his hand 

And the last arrow in his quiver. 
" Live," said the conqueror, — "live to s^.^re 
The trophies and the crowns I bear ! " 
Silent that youthful warrior stood , 
Silent he pointed to the flood 



130 



LALLA ROOKH. 



All crimson with his country's 

blood, 
Then sent his last remaining 

dart, 
For answer, to th' invader's 

heart. 

False flew the shaft, though 

pointed w^ell ; 
The tyrant lived, the hero 

fell ! — 
Yet mark'd the Peri where he 

lay; 
And when the rush of war 

was past. 
Swiftly descending on a ray 
Of morning light, she caught 

the last — 
Last glorious drop his heart had 

shed. 
Before its free-born spirit fled ! 

" Be this," she cried, as she 
wing'd her flight. 




LALLA ROOKH. 131 

" My welcome gift at the Gates of Light. 
Though foul are the drops that oft distil 

On the field of warfare, blood like this, 

For liberty shed, so holy is. 
It would not stain the purest rill 

That sparkles among the bowers of bUss ! 
Oh ! if there be, on this earthly sphere, 
A boon, an offering, Heaven holds dear, 
'Tis the last Ubation Liberty draws 
From the heart that bleeds and breaks in her 
cause ! " 

" Sweet," said the Angel, as she gave 

The gift into his radiant hand, 
" Sweet is our welcome of the brave 

Who die thus for their native land ; 
But see, — alas ! — the crystal bar 
Of Eden moves not, — holier far 
Than e'en this drop the boon must be. 
That opes the Gates of Heaven for thee ! " 
Her first fond hope of Eden blighted. 

Now among Afric's Lunar Mountains, 
Far to the south, the Peri lighted ; 

And sleek'd her plumage at the fountains 
Of that Egyptian tide whose birth 
Is hidden from the sons of earth, 
Deep in those solitary woods 
Where oft the Genii of the Floods 
Dance round the cradle of their Nile, 
And hail the new-born Giant's smile ! 
Thence, over Egypt's palmy groves 



132 



LALLA ROOKH. 




f ^ 



.^ 



'4 



rr-^- 




Her grots, and sepulchres of 
kings, 
The exiled Spirit sighing roves ; 
And now hangs listening to the 

doves 
In warm Rosetta's vale, — now loves 
To watch the moonlight on the 
wings 
Of the white pelicans that break 
The azure calm of Moeris' Lake. 

'Twas a fair scene 
'-i.-^ — a land more 
bright 
Never did mortal 

eye behold ! 
Who could have 
thought, that 
saw this night 
Those valleys and 
their fruits of 
gold 




-«K ,.*1 



LALLA ROOKH. 1 33 

Basking in heaven's serenest light ; 
Those groups of lovely date-trees bending 

Languidly their leaf-crown'd heads, 
Like youthful maids, when sleep descending 

Warns them to their silken beds ; 
Those virgin lilies, all the night 

Bathing their beauties in the lake, 
That they may rise more fresh and bright, 

When their beloved sun's awake ; 
Those ruin'd shrines and towers that seem 
The relics of a splendid dream. 
Amid whose fairy loneliness 
Nought but the lapwing's cry is heard. 
Nought seen but (when the shadows, flitting 
Fast from the moon, unsheathe its gleam) 
Some purple-wing'd sultana sitting 

Upon a column, motionless 
And glittering, like an idol bird ! — 
Who could have thought that there, e'en there, 
Amid those scenes so still and fair, 
The Demon of the Plague hath cast 
From his hot wing a deadUer blast. 
More mortal far than ever came 
From the red desert's sands of flame ! 
So quick, that every living thing 
Of human shape, touch'd by his wing, 
Like plants where the simoom hath past, 
At once falls black and withering ! 
The sun went down on many a brow 

Which, full of bloom and freshness then. 
Is rankling in the pest-house now, 



134 LALLA ROOKH. 

And ne'er will feel that sun again 
And oh ! to see the unburied heaps 
On which the lonely midnight sleeps — 
The very vultures turn away, 
And sicken at so foul a prey ! 
Only the fierce hyena stalks 
Throughout the city's desolate walks 
At midnight, and his carnage plies — 

Woe to the half-dead wretch, who meets 
The glaring of those large blue eyes 

Amid the darkness of the streets ! 

" Poor race of Men ! " said the pitying Spirit, 

" Dearly ye pay for your primal fall, — 
Some flowerets of Eden ye still inherit, 

But the trail of the Serpent is over them all ! '* 
She wept, — the air grew pure and clear 

Around her, as the bright drops ran ; 
For there's a magic in each tear. 

Such kindly spirits weep for man ! 

Just then, beneath some orange-trees. 
Whose fruit and blossoms in the breeze 
Were wantoning together, free. 
Like age at play with infancy, — 
Beneath that fresh and springing bower. 

Close by the lake, she heard the moan 
Of one who, at this silent hour. 

Had thither stolen to die alone : 
One who in life, where'er he moved. 

Drew after him the hearts of many ; 



LALLA ROOKH. 



35 






ftc^ 



^ 







V-> 




Yet now, as though he 
ne'er were loved, 

Dies here unseen, un- 
wept by any ! 

None to watch near 
him, — none to 
slake 
The fire that in his 
bosom lies. 

With e'en a sprinkle 
from that lake 
Which shines so cool 
before his eyes ; 



■^if^r" ^K^^ 



Ke:nyon C^>- 



1 



136 LALLA ROOKH. 

No voice, well known through many a day, 

To speak the last, the parting word, 
Which, when all other sounds decay, 

Is still like distant music heard, 
That tender farewell on the shore 
Of this rude world, when all is o'er, 
Which cheers the spirit, ere its bark 
Puts off into the unknown dark. 



Deserted youth ! one thought alone 

Shed joy around his soul in death, — 
That she whom he for years had known 
And loved, and might have call'd his own. 

Was safe from this foul midnight's breath 
Safe in her father's princely halls. 
Where the cool airs from fountain falls. 
Freshly perfumed by many a brand 
Of the sweet wood from India's land, 
Were pure as she whose brow they fann'd. 

But see, — who yonder comes by stealth, 

This melancholy bower to seek. 
Like a young envoy, sent by Health, 

With rosy gifts upon her cheek ? 
'Tis she, — far off, through moonlight dim, 

He knew his own betrothed bride, — 
She, who would rather die with him 

Than live to gain the world beside ! — 
Her arms are round her lover now. 

His livid cheeks to hers she presses. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



137 



And dips, to bind his burning brow, 

In the cool lake her loosen'd tresses. 
Ah ! once how little did he think 
An hour would come when he should shrink 
With horror from that dear embrace, 

Those gentle arms, that were to him 
Holy as is the cradling place 

Of Eden's infant cherubim ! 
And now he yields — now turns away, 
Shuddering as if the venom lay 
All in those proffer'd lips alone, — 
Those lips that, then so fearless grown, 
Never until that instant came 
Near his unask'd or without shame. 
" Oh ! let me only breathe the air. 

The blessed air, that's breathed by thee 
And, whether on its wings it bear 

Healing or death, 'tis sweet to me ! 
There, —drink my tears, while yet they fall, - 

Would that my bosom's blood were balm, 




138 LALLA ROOKH. 

And, well thou know'st, I'd shed it all 

To give thy brow one minute's calm. 
Nay, turn not from me that dear face — 

Am I not thine, — thy own loved bride, - 
The one, the chosen one, whose place 

In life or death is by thy side ! 
Think'st thou that she, whose only light 

In this dim world from thee hath shone. 
Could bear the long, the cheerless night 

That must be hers when thou art gone ? 
That I can live, and let thee go, 
Who art my life itself? No, no — 
When the stem dies, the leaf that grew 
Out of its heart must perish too ! 
Then turn to me, my own love, turn, 
Before like thee I fade and burn ; 
Cling to these yet cool lips, and share 
The last pure life that lingers there ! " 
She fails — she sinks — as dies the lamp 
In charnel airs or cavern damp. 
So quickly do his baleful sighs 
Quench all the sweet light of her eyes ! 
One struggle — and his pain is past, — 

Her lover is no longer living ! 
One kiss the maiden gives, — one last, 

Long kiss, which she expires in giving ! 

" Sleep," said the Peri, as softly she stole 
The farewell sigh of that vanishing soul, 
As true as e'er warm'd a woman's breast, — 
" Sleep on, in visions of odour rest. 



LALLA ROOKH. 139 





In balmier airs than ever yet stirr'd 
Th' enchanted pile of that holy bird 
Who sings at the last his own death-lay, 
And in music and perfume dies away ! " 

Thus saying, from her lips she spread 

Unearthly breathings through the place. 
And shook her sparkling wreath, and shed 

Such lustre o'er each paly face. 
That like two lovely saints they seem'd 

Upon the eve of doomsday taken 
From their dim graves, in odour sleeping; 
While that benevolent Peri beam'd 
Like their good angel, calmly keeping 

Watch o'er them, till their souls would waken ! 
But morn is blushing in the sky ; 

Again the Peri soars above. 
Bearing to heaven that precious sigh 

Of pure self-sacrificing love. 
High throbb'd her heart, with hope elate. 

The Elysian palm she soon shall win, 
For the bright Spirit at the gate 



I40 LALLA ROOKH. 

Smiled as she gave that offering in ; 
And she already hears the trees 

Of Eden, with their crystal bells 
Ringing in that ambrosial breeze 

That from the Throne of Alia swells ; 
And she can see the starry bowls 

That lie around that lucid lake 
Upon whose banks admitted souls 

Their first sweet draught of glory take ! 
But ah ! even Peris' hopes are vain. 
Again the Fates forbade, again 
The immortal barrier closed : " Not yet," 
The Angel said as, with regret. 
He shut from her that ghmpse of glory. 
" True was the maiden, and her story. 
Written in light o'er Alla's head. 
By seraph eyes shall long be read ; 
But, Peri, see, — the crystal bar 
Of Eden moves not, — hoher far 
Then even this sigh the boon must be 
That opes the Gates of Heaven for thee." 

Now, upon Syria's land of roses 
Softly the light of eve reposes. 
And, like a glory, the broad sun 
Hangs over sainted Lebanon ; 
Whose head in wintry grandeur towers. 

And whitens wath eternal sleet. 
While summer, in a vale of flowers. 

Is sleeping rosy at his feet. 
To one w^ho look'd from upper air 



LALLA ROOKH. 141 

O'er all th' enchanted regions there, 

How beauteous must have been the glow, 

The life, the sparkling from below ! — 

Fair gardens, shining streams, with ranks 

Of golden melons on their banks, 

More golden where the sunlight falls ; 

Gay lizards, glittering on the walls 

Of ruin'd shrines, bus}^ and bright. 

As they were all alive with light ; 

And, yet more splendid, numerous flocks 

Of pigeons, settling on the rocks. 

With their rich restless wings, that gleam 

Variously in the crimson beam 

Of the warm west, — as if inlaid 

With brilliants from the mine, or made 

Of tearless rainbows, such as span 

Th' unclouded skies of Peristan ! 

And then the mingling sounds that come. 

Of shepherd's ancient reed, with hum 

Of the wild bees of Palestine 

Banqueting through the flowery vales, — 
And, Jordan, those sweet banks of thine. 

And woods, so full of nightingales ! 



But nought can charm the luckless Peri ; 
Her soul is sad, — her wings are weary : 
Joyless she sees the sun look down 
On that great Temple, once his own, 
Whose lonely columns stand sublime. 
Flinging their shadows from on high. 



142 LALLA ROOKH. 

Like dials, which the wizard, Time, 
Had raised to count his ages by ! 

Yet haply there may he conceal'd 
Beneath those chambers of the sun, 

Some amulet of gems, anneal'd 

In upper fires, some tablet seal'd 
With the great name of Solomon, 

Which, spell'd by her illumined eyes. 
May teach her where, beneath the moon, 
In earth or ocean, lies the boon. 
The charm that can restore so soon 
An erring Spirit to the skies ! 

Cheer'd by this hope, she bends her thither 
Still laughs the radiant eye of heaven. 
Nor have the golden bowers of even 
In the rich west begun to wither, 
When, o'er the vale of Balbec winging 

Slowly, she sees a child at play. 
Among the rosy wdld-fiowers singing, 

As rosy and as wild as they ; 
Chasing, with eager hands and eyes. 
The beautiful blue damsel-flies, 
That flutter'd round the jasmine stems. 
Like winged flowers or flying gems ; — - 
And near the boy, who, tired with play. 
Now nestling 'mid the roses lay, 
She saw a wearied man dismount 

From his hot steed, and on the brink 
Of a small imaret's rustic fount 



LALLA ROOKH. 143 

Impatient fling him down to drink. 
Then swift his haggard brow he turn'd 

To the fair child, who fearless sat, 
Though never yet hath daybeam burn'd 
Upon a brow more fierce than that, — 
Sullenly fierce, — a mixture dire, 
Like thunder-clouds, of gloom and fire ; 
In which the Peri's eye could read 
Dark tales of many a ruthless deed, — 
The ruin'd maid, the shrine profaned, 
Oaths broken, and the threshold stain'd 
With blood of guests ! — there written, all, 
Black as the damning drops that fall 
From the denouncing Angel's pen, 
Ere Mercy weeps them out again ! 
Yet tranquil now that man of crime 
(As if the balmy evening time 
Soften'd his spirit) look'd and lay. 
Watching the rosy infant's play ; 
Though still, whene'er his eye by chance 
Fell on the boy's, its lurid glance 
Met that unclouded, joyous gaze. 
As torches that have burnt all night 
Through some impure and godless rite, 
Encounter morning's glorious rays. 

But hark ! the vesper call to prayer, 
As slow the orb of daylight sets. 
Is rising sweetly on the air. 

From Syria's thousand minarets ! 
The boy has started from the bed 



144 



LALLA ROOKH. 




Of flowers, where he had laid his 

head, 
And down upon the fragrant sod 
Kneels, with his forehead to 
the south. 
Lisping th' eternal name of God 
From purity's own cherub mouth, 
And looking, while his hands and 

eyes 
Are lifted to the glowing skies, 
Like a stray babe of Paradise, 
Just lighted on that flowery plain, 
And seeking for its home again ! 
Oh, 'twas a sight — that heaven — 

that child — 
A scene, which might have well be- 
guiled 
E'en haughty Eblis of a sigh 
For glories lost and peace gone by ! 

And how felt he, the wretched Man 
Reclining there, while memory ran 
O'er many a year of guilt and strife, 
Flew o'er the dark flood of his life. 
Nor found one sunny resting-place. 




\ 



^;r 



1^ 



b. 



•r-^ 






LALLA ROOKH. 145 

Nor brought him back one branch of grace ? 
" There 7uas a time," he said, in mild, 
Heart-humbled tones, " thou blessed child ! 
When, young and haply pure as thou, 
I look'd and pray'd like thee; but now — " 
He hung his head, — each nobler aim 

And hope and feeling, which had slept 
From boyhood's hour, that instant came 

Fresh o'er him, and he wept — he wept ! 
Blest tears of soul-felt penitence ! 

In whose benign, redeeming flow 
Is felt the first, the only sense 

Of guiltless joy that guilt can know. 

" There's a drop," said the Peri, " that down from 

the moon 
Falls through the withering airs of June 
Upon Egypt's land, of so healing a power, 
So balmy a virtue, that e'en in the hour 
That drop descends, contagion dies, 
And health reanimates earth and skies ! — 
Oh ! is it not thus, thou man of sin. 

The precious tears of repentance fall ? 
Though foul thy fiery plagues within. 

One heavenly drop hath dispell'd them all ! " 




146 LALLA ROOKH. 

And now — behold him kneeling there 
By the child's side, in humble prayer, 
While the same sunbeam shines upon 
The guilty and the guiltless one, 
And hymns of joy proclaim through heaven 
The triumph of a soul forgiven ! 

'Twas when the golden orb had set, 
While on their knees they linger'd yet, 
There fell a light, more lovely far 
Than ever came from sun or star, 
Upon the tear that, warm and meek, 
Dew'd that repentant sinner's cheek : 
To mortal eye this light might seem 
A northern flash or meteor beam ; 
But well th' enraptured Peri knew 
'Twas a bright smile the Angel threw 
From heaven's gate, to hail that tear 
Her harbinger of glory near ! 

" Joy, joy for ever ! my task is done, — 
The Gates are pass'd, and heaven is won ! 
Oh ! am I not happy ? I am, I am — 

To thee, sweet Eden ! how dark and sad 
Are the diamond turrets of Shadukiam, 

And the fragrant bowers of Amberabad I 
Farewell, ye odours of earth, that die. 
Passing away like a lover's sigh ! 
My feast is now of the tooba-tree. 
Whose scent is the breath of eternity ! 



LALLA ROOKH. 147 

" Farewell, ye vanishing flowers, that shone 

In my fairy wreath, so bright and brief, — 
Oh ! what are the brightest that e'er have blown, 
To the lote-tree, springing by Alla's Throne, 
Whose flowers have a soul in every leaf ! 
Joy, joy for ever ! — my task is done, — 
The Gates are pass'd, and heaven is won ! " 

" And this," said the Great Chamberlain, " is 
poetry ! this flimsy manufacture of the brain, which, 
in comparison with the lofty and durable monuments 
of genius, is as the gold filigree-work of Zamara 
beside the eternal architecture of Egypt." After this 
gorgeous sentence, which, with a few more of the 
same kind, Fadladeen kept by him for rare and im- 
portant occasions, he proceeded to the anatomy of 
the short poem just recited. The lax and easy kind 
of metre in which it was written ought to be de- 
nounced, he said, as one of the leading causes of the 
alarming growth of poetry in our times. If some 
check were not given to this lawless facility, we should 
soon be overrun by a race of bards as numerous and 
as shallow as the hundred and twenty thousand streams 
of Basra. They who succeeded in this style deserved 
chastisement for their very success ; — as warriors have 
been punished, even after gaining a victory, because 
they had taken the liberty of gaining it in an irregular 
or unestablished manner. What, then, was to be said 
to those who failed ? to those who presumed, as in the 
present lamentable instance, to imitate the license and 
ease of the bolder sons of song, without any of that 



148 LALLA ROOKH. 

grace or vigour which gave a dignity even to negU- 
gence ; who, like them, flung the jereed carelessly, but 
not, like them, to the mark : " and who," said he, rais- 
ing his voice to excite a proper degree of wakefulness 
in his hearers, "contrive to appear heavy and con- 
strained in the midst of all the latitude they have 
allowed themselves, like one of those young pagans 
that dance before the Princess, w^ho has the ingenuity 
to move as if her limbs were fettered in a pair of the 
lightest and loosest drawers of Masulipatam ! " 

It was but little suitable, he continued, to the grave 
march of criticism to follow this fantastical Peri, of 
whom they had just heard, through all her flights and 
adventures between earth and heaven, but he could 
not help adverting to the puerile conceitedness of the 
Three Gifts which she is supposed to carry to the 
skies, — a drop of blood, forsooth, a sigh, and a tear ! 
How the first of these articles was delivered into the 
Angel's " radiant hand " he professed himself at a loss 
to discover ; and as to the safe carriage of the sigh 
and the tear, such Peris and such poets were beings 
by far too incomprehensible for him even to guess 
how they managed such matters. " But, in short," 
said he, " it is a waste of time and patience to dwell 
longer upon a thing so incurably frivolous, — puny 
even among its own puny race, and such as only the 
Banyan Hospital for Sick Insects should undertake." 

In vain did Lalla Rookh try to soften this inexora- 
ble critic ; in vain did she resort to her most eloquent 
commonplaces, — reminding him that poets were a 
timid and sensitive race, whose sweetness was not to 



LALLA ROOKH. 1 49 

be drawn forth, like that of the fragrant grass near the 
Ganges, by crushing and trampling upon them ; that 
severity often destroyed every chance of the perfection 
which it demanded ; and that, after all, perfection was 
like the Mountain of the Talisman, — no one had ever 
yet reached its summit. Neither these gentle axioms, 
nor the still gentler looks with which they were incul- 
cated, could lower for one instant the elevation of Fad- 
ladeen's eyebrows, or charm him into anything like 
encouragement, or even toleration, of her Poet. 
Toleration, indeed, was not among the weaknesses 
of Fadladeen : he carried the same spirit into matters 
of poetry and of religion, and, though little versed in 
the beauties or sublimities of either, was a perfect 
master of the art of persecution in both. His zeal, 
too, was the same in either pursuit, whether the game 
before him was pagans or poetasters, — worshippers of 
cows, or writers of epics. 

They had now arrived at the splendid city of Lahore, 
whose mausoleums and shrines, magnificent and num- 
berless, where Death seemed to share equal honours 
with Heaven, would have powerfully affected the 
heart and imagination of Lalla Rookh, if feelings 
more of this earth had not taken entire possession 
of her already. She was here met by messengers, 
despatched from Cashmere, who informed her that 
the King had arrived in the valley, and was himself 
superintending the sumptuous preparations that were 
making in the saloons of the Shalimar for her recep- 
tion. The chill she felt 'on receiving this intelligence 
— which to a bride whose heart was free and lisrht 



150 LALLA ROOKH. 

would have brought only images of affection and 
pleasure — convinced her that her peace was gone 
for ever, and that she was in love, irretrievably in 
love, with young Feramorz. The veil which this 
passion wears at first had fallen off, and to know 
that she loved was now as painful as to love without 
knowing it had been delicious. Feramorz, too, — 
what misery would be his, if the sweet hours of inter- 
course so imprudently allowed them should have 
stolen into his heart the same fatal fascination as into 
hers ; if, notwithstanding her rank and the modest 
homage he always paid to it, even he should have 
yielded to the influence of those long and happy inter- 
views, where music, poetry, the delightful scenes of 
nature, all tended to bring their hearts close together, 
and to waken by every means that too ready passion, 
which often, like the young of the desert-bird, is warmed 
into life by the eyes alone ! She saw but one way to 
preserve herself from being culpable as well as un- 
happy ; and this, however painful, she was resolved to 
adopt. Feramorz must no more be admitted to her 
presence. To have strayed so far into the dangerous 
labyrinth was wrong ; but to linger in it while the clew 
was yet in her hand would be criminal. Though the 
heart she had to offer to the King of Bucharia might 
be cold and broken, it should at least be pure ; and 
she must only try to forget the short vision of hap- 
piness she had enjoyed, — like that Arabian shepherd 
who, in wandering into the wilderness, caught a glimpse 
of the Gardens of Irim, and then lost them again for 
ever ! 



LALLA ROOKH. I^j 

The arrival of the young Bride at Lahore was cele- 
brated in the most enthusiastic manner. The rajas 
and omras in her train, who had kept at a certain 
distance during the journey, and never encamped 
nearer to the Princess than was strictly necessary for 
her safeguard, here rode in splendid cavalcade through 
the city, and distributed the most costly presents to 
the crowd. Engines were erected in all the squares, 
which cast forth showers of confectionery among the 
people; while the artisans, in chariots adorned^'with 
tmsel and flying streamers, exhibited the badges of 
their respective trades through the streets. Such bril- 
liant displays of life and pageantry among the palaces 
and domes and gilded minarets of Lahore made the 
city altogether like a place of enchantment; particu- 
larly on the day when Lalla Rookh set out again upon 
her journey, when she was accompanied to the gate by 
all the fairest and richest of the nobility, and rode 
along between ranks of beautiful boys and girls, who 
waved plates of gold and silver flowers over their heads 
as they went, and then threw them to be gathered by 
the populace. 

For many days after their departure from Lahore, 
a considerable degree of gloom hung over the whole 
party. Lalla Rookh, who had intended to make ill- 
ness her excuse for not admitting the young minstrel 
as usual to the pavilion, soon found that to feign indis- 
position was unnecessary; Fadladeen felt the loss of 
the good road they had hitherto travelled, and was 
very near cursing Jehan-Guire (of blessed memory !) 
for not having continued his delectable alley of trees, 



152 LALLA ROOKH. 

at least as far as the mountains of Cashmere ; while 
the ladies, who had nothing now to do all day but to 
be fanned by peacocks' feathers and listen to Fadla- 
deen, seemed heartily weary of the life they led, and, 
in spite of all the Great Chamberlain's criticisms, were 
tasteless enough to wish for the Poet again. One even- 
ing, as they were proceeding to their place of rest for 
the night, the Princess, who, for the freer enjoyment 
of the air, had mounted her favourite Arabian palfrey, 
in passing by a small grove heard the notes of a lute 
from within its leaves, and a voice, which she but too 
well knew, singing the following words : 

Tell me not of joys above, 

If that world can give no bliss, 

Truer, happier than the love 

Which enslaves our souls in this ! 

Tell me not of Houris' eyes ; — 
Far from me their dangerous glow, 

If those looks that light the skies 
Wound like some that burn below ! 

Who that feels what love is here — 
All its falsehood, all its pain — 

Would, for even elysium's sphere. 
Risk the fatal dream again ? 

Who, that midst a desert's heat 

Sees the waters fade away. 
Would not rather die than meet 

Streams again as false as they ? 



LALLA ROOKH. I 53 

The tone of melancholy defiance in which these words 
were uttered went to Lalla Rookh's heart ; and as she 
reluctantly rode on, she could not help feeling it as a 
sad but sweet certainty that Feramorz was to the full 
as enamoured and miserable as herself. 

The place where they encamped that evening was 
the first delightful spot they had come to since they 
left Lahore. On one side of them was a grove full of 
small Hindoo temples, and planted with the most 
graceful trees of the East ; where the tamarind, the 
cassia, and the silken plantains of Ceylon were mingled 
in rich contrast with the high fan-like foliage of the Pal- 
myra, — that favourite tree of the luxurious bird that 
lights up the chambers of its nest with fireflies. In 
the middle of the lawn where the pavilion stood there 
was a tank surrounded by small mango-trees, on the 
clear cold waters of which floated multitudes of the 
beautiful red lotus, while at a distance stood the ruins. 
of a strange and awful-looking tower, which seemed 
old enough to have been the temple of some religion 
no longer known, and which spoke the voice of deso- 
lation in the midst of all that bloom and loveliness. 
This singular ruin excited the wonder and conjectures, 
of all. Lalla Rookh guessed in vain ; and the all-pre- 
tending Fadladeen, who had never till this journey been 
beyond the precincts of Delhi, was proceeding most 
learnedly to show that he knew nothing whatever 
about the matter, M^hen one of the ladies suggested 
that perhaps Feramorz could satisfy their curiosity. 
They were now approaching his native mountains, and 
this tower might be a relic of some of those dark super- 



154 LALLA ROOKH. 

stitions which had prevailed in that country before the 
Hght of Islam dawned upon it. The Chamberlain, 
who usually preferred his own ignorance to the best 
knowledge that any one else could give him, was by 
no means pleased with this officious reference ; and 
the Princess, too, was about to interpose a faint word 
of objection : but, before either of them could speak, 
a slave was despatched for Feramorz, who in a very 
few minutes appeared before them, looking so pale 
and unhappy in Lalla Rookh's eyes, that she already 
repented of her cruelty in having so long excluded him. 
That venerable tower, he told them, was the remains 
of an ancient Fire-Temple, built by those Ghebers or 
Persians of the old religion, who, many hundred years 
since, had fled hither from their Arab conquerors, 
preferring liberty and their altars in a foreign land to 
the alternative of apostasy or persecution in their own. 
It was impossible, he added, not to feel interested in 
the many glorious but unsuccessful struggles which 
had been made by these original natives of Persia to 
cast off the yoke of their bigoted conquerors. Like 
their own fire in the Burning Field at Bakou, when 
suppressed in one place, they had but broken out with 
fresh flame in another ; and, as a native of Cashmere, 
of that fair and Holy Valley, which had in the same 
manner become the prey of strangers, and seen her 
ancient shrines and native princes swept away before 
the march of her intolerant invaders, he felt a sympa- 
thy, he owned, with the sufferings of the persecuted 
Ghebers, which every monument like this before them 
but tended more powerfully to awaken. 



LALLA ROOKH. I 55 

It was the first time that Feramorz had ever ven- 
tured upon so much prose before Fadladeen, and it 
may easily be conceived what effect such prose as this 
must have produced upon that most orthodox and 
most pagan-hating personage. He sat for some min- 
utes aghast, ejaculating only at intervals, " Bigoted 
conquerors ! — sympathy with Fire-worshippers ! " — 
while Feramorz, happy to take advantage of this 
almost speechless horror of the Chamberlain, proceeded 
to say that he knew a melancholy story, connected 
with the events of one of those brave struggles of the 
Fire-worshippers of Persia against their Arab masters, 
which, if the evening was not too far advanced, he 
should have much pleasure in being allowed to relate 
to the Princess. It was impossible for Lalla Rookh 
to refuse; he had never before looked half so ani- 
mated, and when he spoke of the Holy Valley his eyes 
had sparkled, she thought, like the talismanic charac- 
ters on the cimeter of Solomon. Her consent was 
therefore most readily granted ; and while Fadladeen 
sat in unspeakable dismay, expecting treason and 
abomination in every line, the poet thus began his 
story of the Fire-worshippers : 



156 



LALLA ROOKH. 




THE FIRE -WORSHIPPERS. 



'Tis moonlight over Oman's Sea ; 

Her banks of pearl and palmy isles 
Bask in the night-beam beauteously, 

And her blue waters sleep in smiles. 
'Tis moonlight in Harmozia's walls. 
And through her Emir's porphyry halls, 
Where, some hours since, was heard the swell 
Of trumpet and the clash of zel. 
Bidding the bright-eyed sun farewell, — 



LALLA ROOKH. I 57 

The peaceful sun, whom better suits 

The music of the bulbul's nest, 
Or the light touch of lovers' lutes. 

To sing him to his golden rest ! 
All hush'd — there's not a breeze in motion ; 
The shore is silent as the ocean. 
If zephyrs come, so light they come, 

Nor leaf is stirr'd nor wave is driven ; — 
The wind-tower on the Emir's dome. 

Can hardly win a breath from heaven. 

Even he, that tyrant Arab, sleeps 

Calm, while a nation round him weeps ; 

While curses load the air he breathes. 

And falchions from unnumber'd sheaths 

Are starting to avenge the shame 

His race hath brought on Iran's name. 

Hard, heartless Chief, unmoved alike 

'Mid eyes that weep, and swords that strike ; — 

One of that saintly, murderous brood. 

To carnage and the Koran given, 
Who think through unbelievers' blood 

Lies their directest path to heaven, — 
One who will pause and kneel unshod 

In the warm blood his hand hath pour'd, 
To mutter o'er some text of God 

Engraven on his reeking sword ; 
Nay, who can coolly note the line. 
The letter of those words divine. 
To which his blade, with searching art, 
Had sunk into its victim's heart ! 



158 



LALLA ROOKH. 




Just Alia ! what must be thy look, 

When such a wretch before Thee stands 
Unblushing, with thy Sacred Book, — 

Turning the leaves with blood-stain'd hands, 
And wresting from its page sublime 
His creed of lust and hate and crime ? 
Even as those bees of Trebizond, 

Which from the sunniest flowers that glad 
With their pure smile the gardens round. 

Draw venom forth that drives men mad ! 



Never did fierce Arabia send 

A satrap forth more direly great ; 

Never was Iran doom'd to bend 
Beneath a yoke of deadlier weight. 



LALLA ROOKH. 159 

Her throne had fallen ; her pride was crush'd ; 

Her sons were willing slaves, nor blush'd, 

In their own land, — no more their own, — 

To crouch beneath a stranger's throne. 

Her towers, where Mithra once had burn'd, 

To Moslem shrines — oh, shame ! — were turn'd ; 

Where slaves, converted by the sword. 

Their mean, apostate worship pour'd, 

And cursed the faith their sires adored. 

Yet has she hearts, 'mid all this ill, 

O'er all this wreck, high buoyant still 

With hope and vengeance ; hearts that yet — 

Like gems, in darkness issuing rays 
They've treasured from the sun that's set — 

Beam all the light of long-lost days ! 
And swords she hath, nor weak nor slow 

To second all such hearts can dare ; 
As he shall know, well, dearly know. 

Who sleeps in moonlight luxury there, 
Tranquil as if his spirit lay 
Becalm'd in Heaven's approving ray ! 
Sleep on, — for purer eyes than thine 
Those waves are hush'd, those planets shine. 
Sleep on, — and be thy rest unmoved 

By the white moonbeam's dazzling power ; 
None but the loving and the loved 

Should be awake at this sweet hour. 

And see — • where, high above those rocks 
That o'er the deep their shadows fling. 
Yon turret stands, — where ebon locks, 



i6o 



LALLA ROOKH. 




As glossy 
as a 
heron's 
wing 
Upon the 
turban 
of a 
king, 
Hang 
from 
the lat- 
tice, 
long 
and wild, — 
'Tis she, that Emir's 
blooming child. 
All truth and tenderness and 
grace, 
Though born of such ungentle 
race, — 
An image of Youth's fairy Fountain 
Springing in a desolate mountain ! 



Oh, what a pure and sacred thing 
Is beauty, curtain'd from the sight 



LALLA ROOKH. 



i6i 




Of the gross world, illumining 
One only mansion with her 
Hght ! 
Unseen by man's disturbing eve, — 

The flower that blooms beneath the sea, 
Too deep for sunbeams, doth not lie 

Hid in more chaste obscurity ! 
So, Hinda, have thy face and mind, 
Like holy mysteries, lain enshrined. 
And oh, what transport for a lover 

To lift the veil that shades them o'er! 
Like those who all at once discover 

In the lone deep some fairy shore, 

Where mortal never trod before, 
And sleep and wake in scented airs 
No lip had ever breathed but theirs ! 
Beautiful are the maids that glide, 

On summer eves, through Yemen's dales, 
And bright the glancing looks they hide 



l62 LALLA ROOKH. 

Behind their Utters' roseate veils ; 
And brides, as delicate and fair 
As the white jasmine flowers they wear, 
Hath Yemen in her blissful clime, 

Who lull'd in cool kiosk or bower 
Before their mirrors count the time, 

And grow still lovelier every hour. 
But never yet hath bride or maid 

In Araby's gay harams smiled, 
Whose boasted brightness w^ould not fade 

Before Al Hassan's blooming child. 

Light as the angel shapes that bless 
An infant's dream, yet not the less 
Rich in all woman's loveliness ; 
With eyes so pure, that from their ray 
Dark vice would turn abash'd away. 
Blinded like serpents, when they gaze 
Upon the emerald's virgin blaze ! 
Yet, fill'd with all youth's sweet desires, 
Mingling the meek and vestal fires 
Of other worlds wdth all the bliss. 
The fond, weak tenderness of this ! 
A soul, too, more than half divine, 

Where, through some shades of earthly feeling,. 
Religion's soften'd glories shine. 

Like light through summer foliage stealing, 
Shedding a glow of such mild hue. 
So warm, and yet so shadowy too, 
As makes the very darkness there 
More beautiful than light elsewhere ! 



LALLA ROOKH. 163, 

Such is the maid who at this hour 

Hath risen from her restless sleep, 
And sits alone in that high bower, 

Watching the still and shining deep. 
Ah ! 'twas not thus — with tearful eyes 

And beating heart — she used to gaze 
On the magnificent earth and skies, 

In her own land, in happier days. 
Why looks she now so anxious down 
Among those rocks, whose rugged frown 

Blackens the mirror of the deep ? 
Whom waits she all this lonely night ? 

Too rough the rocks, too bold the steep, 
For man to scale that turret's height ! 

So deem'd at least her thoughtful sire. 

When high, to catch the cool night air, 
After the daybeam's withering fire, 

He built her bower of freshness there, 
And had it deck'd with costliest skill, 

And fondly thought it safe as fair ; — 
Think, reverend dreamer ! think so still. 

Nor wake to learn what love can dare, — 
Love, all-defying Love, who sees 
No charm in trophies won with ease ; 
Whose rarest, dearest fruits of bliss 
Are pluck'd on danger's precipice ! 
Bolder than they who dare not dive 

For pearl's but when the sea's at rest, 
Love, in the tempest most alive, 

Hath ever held that pearl the best 



l64 LALLA ROOKH. 

He finds beneath the stormiest water ! 
Yes, — Araby's unrivall'd daughter, 
Though high that tower, that rock-way rude, 

There's one who, but to kiss thy cheek, 
Would cUmb th' untrodden sohtude 

Of Ararat's tremendous peak. 
And think its steeps, though dark and 

dread. 
Heaven's pathways, if to thee they led ! 
E'en now thou seest the flashing spray, 
That lights his oar's impatient way ; 
E'en now thou hear'st the sudden shock 
Of his swift bark against the rock, 
And stretchest down thy arms of snow, 
As if to lift him from below ! 
Like her to whom, at dead of night, 
The bridegroom, with his locks of light, 
Came, in the flush of love and pride, 
And scaled the terrace of his bride ; 
When, as she saw him rashly spring. 
And midway up in danger cHng,^ 
She flung him down her long black hair, 
Exclaiming, breathless, " There, love, there ! 
And scarce did manlier nerve uphold 

The hero Zal in that fond hour. 
Than wings the youth who, fleet and bold. 

Now climbs the rocks to Hinda's bower. 
See — light as up their granite steeps 

The rock-goats of Arabia clamber, 
Fearless from crag to crag he leaps. 

And now is in the maiden's chamber. 



LALLA ROOKH. 165 

She loves, — but knows not whom she loves, 

Nor what his race, nor whence he came ; — ■ 
Like one who meets, in Indian groves. 

Some beauteous bird, without a name, 
Brought by the last ambrosial breeze, 
From isles in th' undiscover'd seas, 
To show his plumage for a day 
To wondering eyes, and wing away ! 
Will he thus fly, — her nameless lover ? 

Alia forbid ! 'twas by a moon 
As fair as this, while singing over 

Some ditty to her soft Kanoon, 
Alone at this same witching hour. 

She first beheld his radiant eyes ^^ 

•Gleam through the lattice of the bower, 

Where nightly now they mix their sighs ; 
And thought some spirit of the air 
(For what could waft a mortal there ?) 
Was pausing on his moonlight way 
To listen to her lonely lay ! 

This fancy ne'er hath left her mind ; 

And though, when terror's swoon had past. 
She saw a youth, of mortal kind. 

Before her in obeisance cast. 
Yet often since, when he hath spoken 
Strange, awful words, and gleams have broken 
From his dark eyes, too bright to bear. 

Oh ! she hath fear'd her soul was given 
To some unhallow'd child of air, 

Some erring spirit cast from heaven, 



l66 LALLA ROOKH. 

Like those angelic youths of old, 

Who burn'd for maids of mortal mould, 

Bewilder'd left the glorious skies, 

And lost their heaven for woman's eyes ! 

Fond girl, nor fiend nor angel he. 

Who woos thy young simplicity ; 

But one of earth's impassion'd sons. 

As warm in love, as fierce in ire, 
As the best heart whose current runs 

Full of the Day-god's living fire ! 

But quench'd to-night that ardour seems. 

And pale his cheek, and sunk his brow ; — 
Never before, but in her dreams. 

Had she beheld him pale as now ; 
And those were dreams of troubled sleep. 
From which 'twas joy to wake and weep, — 
Visions, that will not be forgot. 

But sadden every waking scene. 
Like warning ghosts, that leave the spot 

All wither'd where they once have been I 

" How sweetly," said the trembling maid, 

Of her own gentle voice afraid. 

So long had they in silence stood. 

Looking upon that tranquil flood, — 

" How sweetly does the moonbeam smile 

To-night upon yon leafy isle ! 

Oft, in my fancy's wanderings, 

I've wish'd that little isle had wings, 

And we, within its fairy bowers. 



LALLA ROOKH. 167 

Were wafted off to seas unknown, 
Where not a pulse should beat but ours, 

And we might live, love, die alone ! 
Far from the cruel and the cold, — 

Where the bright eyes of angels only 
Should come around us to behold 

A paradise so pure and lonely ! 
Would this be world enough for thee ? " 
Playful she turn'd, that he might see 

The passing smile her cheek put on ! 
But when she mark'd how mournfully 

His eyes met hers, that smile was gone ; 
And, bursting into heartfelt tears, 
" Yes, yes," she cried, " my hourly fears. 
My dreams, have boded all too right — 
We part — for ever part — to-night ! — 
I knew, I knew it could not last — 
'Twas bright, 'twas heavenly, but 'tis past ! 



Oh! ever thus, from childhood's hour, 

I've seen my fondest hopes decay ; 
I never loved a tree or flower, 

But 'twas the first to fade away. 
I never nursed a dear gazelle. 

To glad me with its soft black eye, 
But when it came to know me well, 
^_,^ And love me, it was sure to die ! 
Now too — the joy most like divine 

Of all I ever dreamt or knew. 
To see thee, hear thee, call thee mine, — 

Oh, misery ! must I lose that too ? 
Yet go — on peril's brink we meet ; — 



[68 



LALLA ROOKH. 




Those frightful rocks — 
that treacherous sea — 
No, never come again — though 
sweet, 

Though heaven, it may be death to thee. 
Farewell — and blessings on thy way, 

Where'er thou go'st, beloved stranger ! 
Better to sit and watch that ray, 
And think thee safe, though far away, 

Than have thee near me, and in dansfer ! 






LALLA ROOKH. 169 

" Danger ! oh, tempt me not to boast," 
The youth exclaim'd, — " thou little know'st 
What he can brave who, born and nurst 
In Danger's paths, has dared her worst ! 
Upon whose ear the signal-word 

Of strife and death is hourly breaking ; 
Who sleeps with head upon the sword 

His fever'd hand must grasp in waking ! 
Danger! — " 

" Say on — thou fear'st not then, 
And we may meet — oft meet again ? " 

" Oh, look not so, — beneath the skies 

I now fear nothing but those eyes. 

If aught on earth could charm or force 

My spirit from its destined course. 

If aught could make this soul forget 

The bond to which its seal is set, 

'Twould be those eyes ; — they, only they, 

Could melt that sacred seal away ! 

But no — 'tis fix'd — my awful doom 

Is fix'd — on this side of the tomb 

We meet no more — why, why did Heaven 

Mingle two souls that earth has riven, 

Has rent asunder, wide as ours ? 

O Arab maid ! as soon the powers 

Of light and darkness may combine, 

As I be link'd with thee or thine ! 

Thy Father — " 



I/O 



LALLA ROOKH. 




" Holy Alia, save 

His gray head from that lightning glance ! 
Thou know'st him not, — he loves the brave 

Nor lives there under heaven's expanse 
One who would prize, would worship thee, 
And thy bold spirit, more than he. 
Oft, when in childhood, I have play'd 

With the bright falchion by his side, 
I've heard him swear his lisping maid 

In time should be a warrior's bride ; 
And still, whene'er, at haram hours, 
I take him cool sherbets and flowers. 
He tells me, when in playful mood, 

A hero shall my bridegroom be, 
Since maids are best in battle woo'd, 



LALLA ROOKH. 



171 




And won with shouts 

of victory ! 
Nay, turn not from me, — thou alone 
Art form'd to make both hearts thy own. 
Go — join his sacred ranks — thou know'st 

Th' unholy strife these Persians wage : — 
Good Heaven, that frown ! — even now thou glow'st 

With more than mortal warrior's rage. 
Haste to the camp by morning's light, 
And, when that sword is raised in fight, 
Oh, still remember. Love and I 
Beneath its shadow trembling lie ! 
One victory o'er those Slaves of Fire, 
Those impious Ghebers, whom my sire 
Abhors — " 



172 LALLA ROOKH. 

" Hold, hold — thy words are death, 

The stranger cried, as wild he flung 
His mantle back, and show'd beneath 

The Gheber belt that round him clung — 
" Here, maiden, look — weep — blush to see 
All that thy sire abhors in me ! 
Yes — / am of that impious race. 

Those Slaves of Fire, who, morn and even, 
Hail their Creator's dwelling-place 

Among the living lights of heaven ! 
Yes — / am of that outcast few, 
To Iran and to vengeance true, 
Who curse the hour your Arabs came 
To desolate our shrines of flame, 
And swear, before God's burning eye, 
To break our country's chains, or die ! 
Thy bigot sire — nay, tremble not — 

He who gave birth to those dear eyes 
With me is sacred as the spot 

From which our fires of worship rise ! 
But know — 'twas he I sought that night, 

When, from my watch-boat on the sea, 
I caught this turret's glimmering light, 

And up the rude rocks desperately 
Rush'd to my prey — thou know'st the rest — - 
I climb'd the gory vulture's nest, 
And found a trembling dove within — 
Thine, thine the victory — thine the sin — 
If Love hath made one thought his own, 
That vengeance claims first — - last — alone ! 
Oh ! had we never, never met. 



LALLA ROOKH. 1 75 

Or could this heart e'en now forget 
How link'd, how bless'd, we might have been, 
Had fate not frown'd so dark between ! 
Hadst tliou been born a Persian maid, 

In neighbouring valleys had we dwelt. 
Through the same fields in childhood play'd, 

At the same kindling altar knelt, — 
Then, then, while all those nameless ties, 
In which the charm of country lies. 
Had round our hearts been hourly spun, 
Till Iran's cause and thine were one ; — 
While in thy lute's awakening sigh 
I heard the voice of days gone by, 
And saw in every smile of thine 
Returning hours of glory shine ! — 
While the wrong'd Spirit of our Land 

Lived, look'd, and spoke her wrongs through 
thee, — 
God ! who could then this sword withstand ? 

Its every flash were victory ! 
But now — estranged, divorced for ever, 
Far as the grasp of Fate can sever, 
Our only ties what love has wove, — 

Faith, friends, and country, sunder'd wide ; 
And then, then only, true to love. 

When false to all that's dear beside ! 
Thy father, Iran's deadliest foe — • 
Thyself, perhaps, e'en now — but no — 
Hate never look'd so lovely yet ! 

No — sacred to thy soul will be 
The land of him who could forget 



174 



LALLA ROOKH. 




LALLA ROOKH. 175 

When other eyes shall see, unmoved, 
Her widows mourn, her warriors fall, 

Thou'lt think how well one Gheber loved. 
And for Jiis sake thou'lt weep for all ! 

But look — " 

With sudden start he turn'd 
And pointed to the distant wave, 
Where lights, like charnel meteors, burn'd 

Bluely, as o'er some seaman's grave ; 
And fiery darts, at intervals. 

Flew up all sparkling from the main. 
As if each star that nightly falls. 

Were shooting back to heaven again. 
" My signal lights ! — I must away — 
Both, both are ruin'd, if I stay. 
jTarewell — sweet life 1 thou cling' st in ^vam — 
Now — Vengeance! I am thine again." 
Fiercely he broke away, nor stopp'd 
Nor look'd— but from the lattice dropp'd 
Down 'mid the pointed crags beneath. 
As if he fled from love to death. 
While pale and mute young Hinda stood. 
Nor moved, till in the silent flood 
A momentary plunge below 
Startled her from her trance of woe ; 
Shrieking she to the lattice flew, 
" I come — I come — if in that tide 
Thou sleep'st to-night- I'll sleep there too. 

In death's cold wedlock by thy side. 
Oh ! I would ask no happier bed 



1/6 



LALLA ROOKH. 




Than the chill wave my love lies under 
Sweeter to rest together dead, 

Far sweeter than to live asunder ! " 
But no, — their hour is not yet come, — 

Again she sees his pinnace fly. 
Wafting him fleetly to his home. 

Where'er that ill-starr'd home may lie ; 



LALLA ROOKH. 1/7 

And calm and smooth it seem'd to win 

Its moonlight way before the wind, 
As it bore all peace within, 

Nor left one breaking heart behind ! 

The Princess, whose heart was sad enough already, 
could have wished that Feramorz had chosen a less 
melancholy story ; as it is only to the happy that tears 
are a luxury. Her ladies, however, were by no means 
sorry that love was once more the poet's theme ; for 
when he spoke of love, they said, his voice was as 
sweet as if he had chewed the leaves of that enchanted 
tree which grows over the tomb of the musician Tan- 

Sein. 

Their road all the morning had lain through a very 
dreary country, — through valleys, covered with a low 
bushy jungle, where, in more than one place, the awful 
signal of the bamboo staff, with the white flag at its 
top, reminded the traveller that in that very spot the 
tiger had made some human creature his victim. It 
wis therefore with much pleasure that they arrived at 
sunset in a safe and lovely glen, and encamped under 
one of those holy trees whose smooth columns and 
spreading roofs seem to destine them for natural 
temples of Religion. Beneath the shade, some pious 
hands had erected pillars ornamented with the most 
beautiful porcelain, which now supphed the use of 
mirrors -to the young ladies, as they adjusted their hair 
in descending from the palankeens. Here, while, as 
usual, the Princess sat listening anxiously, with Fad- 
ladeen in one of his loftiest moods of criticism by her 



7S 



LALLA ROOKH. 




the young Poet, 
leaning against a branch 
of the tree, thus contin- 
ued his story : 

The morn hath risen 

clear and calm, 
And o'er the Green 

Sea palely shines. 
Revealing Bahrein's 

groves of palm. 
And lighting Kish- 

ma's amber vines. 
Fresh smell the shores 

of Araby, 




LALLA ROOKH. 



179 




While breezes from the In- 
dian sea 4 % 
Blow round Selama's sainted ¥^*- 
cape, 
And curl the shining flood 
beneath, 
Whose waves are rich with 
many a grape, 
A cocoa-nut, and flowery 
wreath. 
Which pious seamen, as they 

pass'd, 
Had toward that holy head- 
land cast, — 
Oblations to the Genii 
there 





l8o LALLA ROOKH. 

For gentle skies and breezes fair ! 
The nightingale now bends her flight 
From the high trees, where all the night 

She sung so sweet, with none to listen ; 
And hides her from the morning star 

Where thickets of pomegranate glisten 
In the clear dawn, — bespangled o'er 

With dew, whose night-drops would not stain 
The best and brightest cimeter 
That ever youthful Sultan wore 

On the first morning of his reign ! 

And see — the Sun himself ! — on wings 

Of glory up the east he springs. 

Angel of light ! who from the time 

Those heavens began their march sublime. 

Hath first of all the starry choir 

Trod in his Maker's steps of fire ! 

Where are the days, thou wondrous sphere. 
When Iran, like a sunflower turn'd 
To meet that eye, where'er it burn'd ? — 

When, from the banks of Bendemeer 
To the nut-groves of Samarcand, 
Thy temples flamed o'er all the land ? 
Where are they ? ask the shades of them 

Who on Cadessia's bloody plains 
Saw fierce invaders pluck the gem 
From Iran's broken diadem, 

And bind her ancient faith in chains ; — 
Ask the poor exile, cast alone 
On foreign shores, unloved, unknown, 



LALLA ROOKH. l8l 

Beyond the Caspian's Iron Gates, 

Or on the snowy Mossian mountains, 
Far from his beauteous land of dates. 

Her jasmine bowers and sunny fountains ! 
Yet happier so than if he trod 
His own beloved but blighted sod. 
Beneath a despot stranger's nod ! — 
Oh ! he would rather houseless roam 

Where freedom and his God may lead, 
Than be the sleekest slave at home 

That crouches to the conqueror's creed ! 
Is Iran's pride then gone for ever, 

Quench'd with the flame in Mithra's caves ? — 
No : she has sons that never — - never — 

Will stoop to be the Moslem's slaves, 

While heaven has light or earth has graves. 
Spirits of fire, that brood not long. 
But flash resentment back for wrong ; 
And hearts where, slow but deep, the seeds 
Of vengeance ripen into deeds, 
Till, in some treacherous hour of calm. 
They burst, like Zeilan's giant palm. 
Whose buds fly open with a sound 
That shakes the pigmy forests round ! 

Yes, Emir ! he who scaled that tower. 

And, had he reach'd thy slumbering breast, 

Had taught thee, in a Gheber's power 
How safe even tyrant heads may rest — 

Is one of many, brave as lie. 

Who loathe thy haughty race and thee ; 



1 82 LALLA ROOKH. 

Who, though they know the strife is vain, 

Who, though they know the riven chain 

Snaps but to enter in the heart 

Of him who rends its links apart, 

Yet dare the issue, — blest to be 

Even for one bleeding moment free, 

And die in pangs of liberty ! 

Thou know'st them well, — 'tis some moons since 

Thy turban'd troops and blood-red flags, 
Thou satrap of a bigot prince ! 

Have swarm'd among these Green Sea crags ; 
Yet here, even here, a sacred band, 
Ay, in the portal of that land 
Thou, Arab, dar'st to call thy own. 
Their spears across thy path have thrown ; 
Here — ere the winds half wing'd thee o'er — 
Rebellion braved thee from the shore. 

Rebellion ! foul, dishonouring word. 

Whose wrongful blight so oft has stain'd 

The holiest cause that tongue or sword 

Of mortal ever lost or gain'd ! 

How many a spirit, born to bless. 

Hath sunk beneath that withering name. 

Whom but a day's, an hour's, success 
Had wafted to eternal fame ! 

As exhalations, when they burst 

From the warm earth, if chill'd at first. 

If check'd in soaring from the plain. 

Darken to fogs and sink again ; 

But, if they once triumphant spread 



LALLA ROOKH. 1 83 

Their wings above the mountain-head, 
Become enthroned in upper air, 
And turn to sun-bright glories there ! 

And who is he that wields the might 

Of freedom on the Green Sea brink, 
Before whose sabre's dazzling light 

The eyes of Yemen's warriors wink ! 
Who comes embower'd in the spears 
Of Kerman's hardy mountaineers, — 
Those mountaineers that truest, last 

Cling to their country's ancient rites, 
As if that God, whose eyelids cast 

Their closing gleams on Iran's heights. 
Among her snowy mountains threw 
The last light of his worship too ! 

'Tis Hafed, — name of fear, whose sound 
Chills like the muttering of a charm ; — 

Shout but that awful name around, 
And palsy shakes the manliest arm. 

'Tis Hafed, most accurst and dire 

(So rank'd by Moslem hate and ire) 

Of all the rebel Sons of Fire ! 

Of whose malign, tremendous power 

The Arabs, at their mid-watch hour. 

Such tales of fearful wonder tell, 

That each affrighted sentinel 

Pulls down his cowl upon his eyes. 

Lest Hafed in the midst should rise ! 

A man, they say, of monstrous birth, 



1 84 LALLA ROOKH. 

A mingled race of flame and earth, 
Sprung from those old, enchanted kings. 

Who, in their fairy helms, of yore, 
A feather from the mystic wings 

Of the Simoorgh resistless wore ; 
And gifted by the Fiends of Fire, 
Who groan'd to see their shrines expire, 
With charms that, all in vain withstood, 
Would drown the Koran's light in blood 1 

Such were the tales that won belief, 

And such the colouring fancy gave 
To a young, warm, and dauntless Chief, — 

One who, no more than mortal brave. 
Fought for the land his soul adored, 

For happy homes, and altars free, — 
His only taUsman, the sword ; 

His only spell-word. Liberty ! 
One of that ancient hero line, 
Along whose glorious current shine 
Names that have sanctified their blood ; 
As Lebanon's small mountain flood 
Is render'd holy by the ranks 
Of sainted cedars on its banks ! 

'Twas not for him to crouch the knee 

Tamely to Moslem tyranny ; 

'Twas not for him, whose soul was cast 

In the bright mould of ages past. 

Whose melancholy spirit, fed 

With all the glories of the dead, 



LALLA ROOKH. 



185 



Though framed for Iran's happiest years, 
Was born among her chains and tears ! — 
'Twas not for him to swell the crowd 
Of slavish heads, that shrinking bow'd 
Before the Moslem, as he pass'd. 
Like shrubs beneath the poison-blast — 
No : far he tied, — indignant fled 

The pageant of his country's shame ; 
While every tear her children shed 

Fell on his soul, like drops of flame ; 
And, as a lover hails the dawn 




1 86 LALLA ROOKH. 

Of a first smile, so welcomed he 

The sparkle of the first sword drawn 

For vengeance and for liberty ! 

But vain was valour, — vain the flower 
Of Kerman, in that deathful hour, 
Against Al Hassan's whelming power. 
In vain they met him, helm to helm, 
Upon the threshold of that realm 
He came in bigot pomp to sway, 
And with their corpses block'd his way, — 
In vain — for every lance they raised, 
Thousands around the conqueror blazed ; 
For every arm that lined their shore. 
Myriads of slaves were wafted o'er, — 
A bloody, bold, and countless crowd. 
Before whose swarm as fast they bow'd 
As dates beneath the locust-cloud ! 

There stood — but one short league away 
From old Harmozia's sultry bay — 
A rocky mountain, o'er the Sea 
Of Oman beetling awfully. 
A last and solitary link 

Of those stupendous chains that reach 
From the broad Caspian's reedy brink 

Down winding to the Green Sea beach. 
Around its base the bare rocks stood. 
Like naked giants, in the flood. 

As if to guard the gulf across ; 
While, on its peak, that braved the sky. 



LALLA ROOKH. 1 87 

A ruin'd temple tower'd, so high 

That oft the sleeping albatross 
Struck the wild ruins with her wing, 
And from her cloud-rock'd slumbering 
Started — to find man's dwelling there 
In her own silent fields of air ! 
Beneath, terrific caverns gave 
Dark welcome to each stormy wave 
That dash'd, like midnight revellers, in ; 
And such the strange, mysterious din 
At times throughout those caverns roll'd, 
And such the fearful wonders told 
Of restless sprites imprison'd there. 
That bold were Moslem who would dare, 
At twilight hour, to steer his skiff 
Beneath the Gheber's lonely cliff. 
On the land side, those towers subhme, 
That seem'd above the grasp of Time, 
Were sever'd from the haunts of men 
By a wide, deep, and wizard glen, 
So fathomless, so full of gloom. 

No eye could pierce the void between. 
It seem'd a place where Gholes might come, 
With their foul banquets from the tomb, 

And in its caverns feed unseen. 
Like distant thunder, from below, 

The sound of many torrents came ; 
Too deep for eye or ear to know 
If 'twere the sea's imprison'd flow, 

Or floods of ever-restless flame. 
For each ravine, each rocky spire, 



i88 



LALLA ROOKH. 



r 




Of that vast mountain 

stood on fire; 
And, though for ever past 

the days 
When God was worshipp'd 

in the blaze 
That from its lofty altar shone, — 
Though fled the priests, the vota 



Still did the mighty flame burn on 
Through chance and change, through 

good and ill. 
Like its own God's eternal will, 
Deep, constant, bright, unquenchable ! 
Thither the vanquish'd Hafed led 

His little army's last remains : 
" Welcome, terrific glen ! " he said, 

" Thy gloom, that Eblis' self might dread, 
Is heaven to him who flies from chains ! 




LALLA ROOKH. 



189 




O'er a dark, narrow bridgeway, 

known 
To him and to his chiefs alone, 
They cross'd the chasm and gain'd 

the towers. 
" This home," he cried, " at least 

is ours ; — 
Here we may bleed, unmock'd by 

hymns 
Of Moslem triumph o'er our 

head ; 
Here we may fall, nor leave our 

limbs 
To quiver to the Moslem's 

tread. 
Stretched on this rock, while vul- 
tures' beaks 
Are whetted on our yet warm 

cheeks, 
Here, happy that no tyrant's eye 
Gloats on our torments, we may die ! " 



190 LALLA ROOKH. 

'Twas night when to those towers they came, 

And gloomily the fitful flame 

That from the ruin'd altar broke, 

Glared on his features, as he spoke : 

" 'Tis o'er, — what men could do, we've done: 

If Iran will look tamely on, 

And see her priests, her warriors, driven 

Before a sensual bigot's nod, — 
A wretch, who takes his lusts to heaven, 

And makes a pander of his God ! — 
If her proud sons, her high-born souls. 

Men in whose veins — oh, last disgrace! — 
The blood of Zal and Rustam rolls, — 

If they will court this upstart race. 
And turn from Mithra's ancient ray. 
To kneel at shrines of yesterday ! 
If they 7£'/// crouch to Iran's foes, — 

Why, let them — till the land's despair 
Cries out to heaven, and bondage grows 

Too vile for e'en the vile to bear ! 
Till shame at last, long hidden, burns 
Their inmost core, and conscience turns 
Each coward tear the slave lets fall 
Eack on his heart in drops of gall ! 
But Jiere^ at least, are arms unchain'd, 
And souls that thraldom never stain'd ; — 

This spot, at least, no foot of slave 
Or satrap ever yet profaned ; 

And though but few, though fast the wave 
Of life is ebbing from our veins. 
Enough for vengeance still remains. 



LALLA ROOKH. 191 

As panthers, after set of sun, 

Rush from the roots of Lebanon 

Across the dark sea-robber's way, 

We'll bound upon our startled prey ; 

And when some hearts that proudest swell 

Have felt our falchion's last farewell. 

When hope's expiring throb is o'er. 

And e'en despair can prompt no more. 

This spot shall be the sacred grave 

Of the last few who, vainly brave, 

Die for the land they cannot save ! " 

His chiefs stood round, each shining blade 

Upon the broken altar laid ; — 

And though so wild and desolate 

Those courts where once the mighty sate, 

Nor longer on those mouldering towers 

Was seen the feast of fruits and flowers 

With which of old the Magi fed 

The wandering spirits of their dead ; 

Though neither priest nor rites were there, 

Nor charmed leaf of pure pomegranate. 
Nor hymn, nor censer's fragrant air. 

Nor symbol of their worshipp'd planet , 
Yet the same God that heard their sires 
Heard thcm^ while on that altar's fires 
They swore the latest, holiest deed 
Of the few hearts still left to bleed 
Should be, in Iran's injured name, 
To die upon that Mount of Flame, — 
The last of all her patriot line, 
Before her last untrampled shrine ! 



192 



LALLA ROOKH. 



Brave, suffering souls ! they little knew 
How many a tear their injuries drew 
From one meek maid, one gentle foe. 
Whom Love first touch'd with 

others' woe, — 
Whose life, as free from thought 
as sin. 

Slept like a 
lake, till 
Love threw 
in 
His talisman, 
and woke 
the tide. 
And spread its 
trembling 
circles wide. 
Once, Emir, 
thy unheed- 
ing child, 
'Mid all this 
havoc, 
bloom'd and 
smiled, — 
Tranquil as on some bat- 
tle-plain 
The Persian lily shines 
and towers. 
Before the combat's reddening stain 

Hath fall'n upon her golden flowers. 
Light-hearted maid, unawed, unmoved,, 




LALLA ROOKH. 193 

While heaven but spared the sire she loved, 
Once at thy evening tales of blood 
Unlistening and aloof she stood ; 
And oft, when thou hast paced along 

Thy haram halls with furious heat. 
Hast thou not cursed her cheerful song, 

That came across thee, calm and sweet, 
Like lutes of angels, touch'd so near 
Hell's confines, that the damn'd can hear ? 

Far other feelings love hath brought, — 

Her soul all flame, her brow all sadness. 
She now has but the one dear thought, 

And thinks that o'er, almost to madness ! 
Oft doth her sinking heart recall 

His words, — " for ;;/ r sake weep for all ; " 
And bitterly, as day on day 

Of revel carnage fast succeeds. 
She weeps a lover snatch'd away 

In every Gheber wretch that bleeds. 
There's not a sabre meets her eye 

But with his life-blood seems to swim ; 
There's not an arrow wings the sky 

But fancy turns its point to him. 
No more she brings with footstep light 
Al Hassan's falchion for the fight ; 
And, had he look'd with clearer sight. 
Had not the mists that ever rise 
From a foul spirit dimm'd his eyes, 
He would have mark'd her shuddering frame. 
When from the field of blood he came. 



194 LALLA ROOKH. 

The faltering speech, the look estranged, — 
Voice, step, and life, and beauty changed, — 
He would have mark'd all this, and known 
Such change is wrought by love alone ! 
Ah ! not the love that should have bless'd 
So young, so innocent a breast ; 
Not the pure, open, prosperous love. 
That, pledged on earth, and seal'd above. 
Grows in the world's approving eyes. 

In friendship's smile and home's caress, 
Collecting all the heart's sweet ties 

Into one knot of happiness ! 
No, Hinda, no ; — thy fatal flame 
Is nursed in silence, sorrow, shame, — 

A passion, without hope or pleasure. 
In thy soul's darkness buried deep, 

It lies like some ill-gotten treasure, — 
Some idol, without shrine or name. 
O'er which its pale-eyed votaries keep 
Unholy watch, while others sleep ! 
Seven nights have darken'd Oman's Sea, 

Since last, beneath the moonlight ray. 
She saw his light oar rapidly 

Hurry her Gheber's bark away ; 
And still she goes, at midnight hour. 
To weep alone in that high bower, 
And watch, and look along the deep 
For him whose smiles first made her weep, - 
But watching, weeping, all was vain. 
She never saw his bark again. 
The owlet's solitary cry ; 



LALLA ROOKH. 195 

The night-hawk, flitting darkly by ; 

And oft the hateful carrion bird, 
Heavily flapping his clogg'd wing, 
Which reek'd with that day's banqueting, — 

Was all she saw, was all she heard. 

'Tis the eighth morn — Al Hassan's brow 

Is brighten'd with unusual joy, — ■ 
What mighty mischief glads him now. 

Who never smiles but to destroy ? 
The sparkle upon Herkend's Sea, 
When toss'd at midnight furiously. 
Tells not of wreck and ruin nigh 
More surely than that smiling eye ! 
"Up, daughter, up, — the kerna's breath 
Has blown a blast w^ould waken death. 
And yet thou sleep'st, — up, child, and see 
This blessed day for heaven and me, 
A day more rich in Pagan blood 
Than ever flash'd o'er Oman's flood. 
Before another dawn shall shine. 
His head — heart — limbs — will all be mine ; 
This very night his blood shall steep 
These hands all over ere I sleep ! " — 
" His blood ! " she faintly scream'd, — her mind 
Still singling one from all mankind. 
" Yes ; — spite of his ravines and towers, 
Hafed, my child, this night is ours. 
Thanks to all-conquering treachery. 

Without whose aid the links accursed. 
That bind these impious slaves, would be 



196 LALLA ROOKH. 

Too strong for AUa's self to burst ! 
That rebel fiend, whose blade has spread 
My path with piles of Moslem dead, 
Whose baffling spells had almost driven 
Back from their course the Swords of Heaven, 
This night, with all his band, shall know 
How deep an Arab's steel can go, 
When God and vengeance speed the blow. 
And, Prophet ! by that holy wreath 
Thou wor'st on Ohod's field of death, 
I swear, for every sob that parts 
In anguish from these heathen hearts, 
A gem from Persia's plunder'd mines 
Shall glitter on thy shrine of shrines. 
But ha ! — she sinks — that look so wild — 
Those livid lips — my child, my child, 
This life of blood befits not thee. 
And thou must back to Araby, 
Ne'er had I risk'd thy timid sex 
In scenes that man himself might dread. 
Had I not hoped our every tread 
Would be on prostrate Persians' necks — 
Cursed race, they offer swords instead ! 
But cheer thee, maid, — the wind that now 
Is blowing o'er thy feverish brow. 
To-day shall waft thee from the shore ; 
And, ere a drop of this night's gore 
Have tune to chill in 37onder towers, 
Thou'lt see thy own sweet Arab bowers ! " 
His bloody boast was all too true : 
There lurk'd one wretch among: the few 



LALLA ROOKH. I97 

Whom Hafed's eagle eye could count 
Around him on that Fiery Mount, — 
One miscreant, who for gold betray'd 
The pathway through the valley's shade 
To those high towers where Freedom stood 
In her last hold of flame and blood. 
Left on the field last dreadful night, 
When, sallying from their sacred height, 
The Ghebers fought hope's farewell fight, 

He lay — but died not with the brave : 
That sun, which should have gilt his grave, 

Saw him a traitor and a slave ; 

And while the few who thence return'd 
To their high rocky fortress mourn'd 

For him among the matchless dead 

They left behind on glory's bed. 

He lived, and in the face of morn 

Laugh'd them and Faith and Heaven to scorn ! 

Oh for a tongue to curse the slave, 
Whose treason, like a deadly blight. 

Comes o'er the councils of the brave, 
And blasts them in their hour of might ! 

May life's unblessed cup for him 

Be drugg'd with treacheries to the brim. 

With hopes that but allure to fly, 

With joys that vanish while he sips, — 

Like Dead-Sea fruits, that tempt the eye. 
But turn to ashes on the lips ! 

His country's curse, his children's shame, 

Outcast of virtue, peace, and fame, 

May he, at last, with lips of flame 



198 



LALLA ROOKH. 



On the parch'd desert thirsting die, 
While lakes that shone in mockery nigh 
Are fading off, untouch'd, untasted, 
Like the once glorious hopes he blasted ! 
And when from earth his spirit flies, 

Just Prophet, let the damn'd one dwell 
Full in the sight of Paradise, 

Beholding heaven, and feeling hell ! 




•LALLA ROOKH. 



199 




which, in spite of the impending fate of poor Hafed, 
made her heart more than usually cheerful during the 
morning, and gave her cheeks all the freshened ani- 
mation of a flower that the Bidmusk had just passed 
over. She fancied that she was sailing on that East- 
ern ocean, where the sea-gypsies, who live for ever on 
the w^ater, enjoy a perpetual summer in wandering 
from isle to isle, when she saw a small gilded bark 
approaching her. It was like one of those boats which 
the Maldivian islanders annually send adrift, at the 
mercy of winds and waves, loaded with perfumes, 
flow^ers, and odoriferous w^ood, as an offering to the 
Spirit whom they call King of the Sea. At first this 
little bark appeared to be empty, but on coming 
nearer — 

She had proceeded thus far in relating the dream 
to her ladies, when Feramorz appeared at the door of 
the pavilion. In his presence, of course, everything 



200 LALLA ROOKH. 

else was forgotten, and the continuance of the story 
was instantly requested by all. Fresh wood of aloes 
was set to burn in the cassolets; the violet sherbets 
were hastily handed round, and after a short prelude 
on his lute, in the pathetic measure of Nava, which 
is always used to express the lamentations of absent 
lovers, the Poet thus continued : 

The day is lowering, — stilly black 
Sleeps the grim wave, while heaven's rack, 
Dispersed and wild, 'twixt earth and sky 
Hangs like a shatter'd canopy ! 
There's not a cloud in that blue plain 

But tells of storm to come or past ; — 
Here flying loosely as the mane 

Of a young war-horse in the blast ; 
There roll'd in masses dark and swelling, 
As proud to be the thunder's dwelling ! 
While some, already burst and riven, 
Seem melting down the verge of heaven ; 
As though the infant storm had rent 

The mighty womb that gave him birth, 
And, having swept the firmament, 

Was now in fierce career for earth. 

On earth, 'twas yet all calm around, 
A pulseless silence, dread, profound. 
More awful than the tempest's sound. 
The diver steer'd for Ormus' bowers, 
And moor'd his skiff till calmer hours ; 
The sea-birds, with portentous screech, 



LALLA ROOKH. 201 

Flew fast to land ; — upon the beach 
The pilot oft had paused, with glance 
Turn'd upward to that wild expanse ; 
And all was boding, drear, and dark 
As her own soul, when Hinda's bark 
Went slowly from the Persian shore — 
No music timed her parting oar, 
Nor friends upon the lessening strand 
Linger'd to wave the unseen hand. 
Or speak the farewell heard no more ; 
But lone, unheeded, from the bay 
The vessel takes its mournful way, 
Like some ill-destined bark that steers 
In silence through the Gate of Tears. 
And where was stern Al Hassan then ? 
Could not that saintly scourge of men 
From bloodshed and devotion spare 
One minute for a farewell there ? 
No ; — close within, in changeful fits 
Of cursing and of prayer, he sits 
In savage loneliness to brood 
Upon the coming night of blood, 

With that keen second-scent of death, 
By which the vulture snuffs his food 

In the still warm and living breath ! 
While o'er the wave his weeping daughter 
Is wafted from these scenes of slaughter, — 
As a young bird of Babylon, 
Let loose to tell of victory won. 
Flies home, with wing, ah ! not unstain'd 
By the red hands that held her chain' d. 



202 



LALLA ROOKH. 



And does the long-left home she seeks 

Light up no gladness on her cheeks ? 

The flowers she nursed, — the well-known groves, 

Where oft in dreams her spirit roves, — 

Once more to see her dear gazelles 

Come bounding with their silver bells, 

Her birds' new plu- 
mage to behold. 
And the gay, gleam- 
ing fishes count. 
She left, all filleted with 
old, 
Shooting around 
their jasper 
fount, — 
Her little garden 
mosque to see, 
And once again, 
at evening hour, 
To tell her ruby 
rosary 




LALLA ROOKH. 



203 



In her own sweet acacia bower, — 
Can these delights, that wait her now. 
Call up no sunshine on her brow ? 
No ; — silent, from her train apart, 
As if even now she felt at heart 
The chill of her approaching doom. 
She sits, all lovely in her gloom 
As a pale angel of the grave ; 
And o'er the wide tempestuous wave 
Looks, with a shudder, to those towers 
Where, in a few short awful hours, 
Blood, blood, in steaming tides shall run, 
Foul incense for to-morrow's sun ! 
" Where art thou, glorious stranger ! thou. 




204 LALLA ROOKH. 

So loved, so lost, where art thou now? 

Foe — Gheber — infidel — whate'er 

Th' unhallow'd name thou'rt doom'd to bear, 

Still glorious, — still to this fond heart 

Dear as its blood, whate'er thou art ! 

Yes, — Alia, dreadful Alia ! yes, — 

If there be wrong, be crime in this, 

Let the black waves, that round us roll. 

Whelm me this instant, ere my soul. 

Forgetting faith, home, father, — all, — 

Before its earthly idol fall. 

Nor worship even Thyself above him. 

For, oh ! so wildly do I love him 

Thy Paradise itself were dim 

And joyless, if not shared with him ! " 

Her hands were clasp'd, — her eyes upturn'd, 

Dropping their tears like moonlight rain ; 
And though her lip, fond raver ! burn'd 

With words of passion, bold, profane. 
Yet was there light around her brow, 

A holiness in those dark eyes. 
Which show'd, — though wandering earthward 
now, — 

Her spirit's home was in the skies. 
Yes, — for a spirit pure as hers 
Is always pure, even while it errs ; 
As sunshine broken in the rill, 
Though turn'd astray, is sunshine still ! 

So wholly had her mind forgot 

All thoughts but one, she heeded not 



LALLA ROOKH. 205 

The rising storm, — the wave that cast 

A moment's midnight, as it pass'd, — 

Nor heard the frequent shout, the tread 

Of gathering tumult o'er her head, — 

Clash'd swords, and tongues that seem'd to vie 

With the rude riot of the sky. 

But, hark! — that war-whoop on the deck, — 

That crash, as if each engine there, 
Mast, sails, and all, were going to wreck, 

'Mid yells and stampings of despair ! 
Merciful Heaven ! what can it be ? 
'Tis not the storm, though fearfully 
The ship had shudder'd as she rode 
O'er mountain waves. " Forgive me, God ! 
Forgive me ! " shriek'd the maid, and knelt, 
Trembling all over, — for she felt 
As if her judgment-hour was near; 
While crouching round, half dead with fear. 
Her handmaids clung, nor breathed, nor stirr'd — 
When, hark ! — a second crash — a third — 
And now, as if a bolt of thunder 
Had riven the labouring planks asunder. 
The deck falls in, — what horrors then ! 
Blood, waves, and tackle, swords and men. 
Come mix'd together through the chasm ; 
Some wretches in their dying spasm 
Still fighting on, and some that call 
" For God and Iran 1 " as they fall ! 

Whose was the hand that turn'd away 
The perils of th' infuriate fray, 



206 LALLA ROOKH. 

And snatch'd her breathless from beneath 
This wilderment of wreck and death ? 
She knew not, — for a faintness came 
Chill o'er her, and her sinking frame 
Amid the ruins of that hour 
Lay, like a pale and scorched flower, 
Beneath the red volcano's shower ! 
But, oh ! the sights and sounds of dread 
That shock'd her, ere her senses fled ! 
The yawning deck, — the crowd that strove 
Upon the tottering planks above, — 
The sail, whose fragments, shivering o'er 
The strugglers' heads, all dash'd with gore, 
Flutter'd like bloody flags, — the clash 
Of sabres, and the lightning's flash 
Upon their blades, high toss'd about 
Like meteor brands, — as if throughout 

The elements one fury ran, 
One general rage, that left a doubt 

Which was the fiercer. Heaven or Man ! 
Once too — but no — it could not be — 

'Twas fancy all — yet once she thought 
While yet her fading eyes could see, 

High on the ruin'd deck she caught 
A glimpse of that unearthly form. 

That glory of her soul, — even then, 
Amid the whirl of wreck and storm, 

Shining above his fellow men. 
As, on some black and troublous night. 
The Star of Egypt, whose proud light 
Never hath beam'd on those who rest 




n^^' 



m 






^ 



LALLA ROOKH. 209 

In the White Islands of the West, 

Burns through the storm with looks of flame 

That put heaven's cloudier eyes to shame ! 

But no ; — 'twas but the minute's dream, — 

A fantasy, — and ere the scream 

Had half-way pass'd her pallid lips, 

A death-like swoon, a chill eclipse 

Of soul and sense, its darkness spread 

Around her, and she sunk, as dead ! 

How calm, how beautiful, comes on 
The stilly hour, when storms are gone ; 
When warring winds have died aw^ay. 
And clouds, beneath the dancing ray, 
Melt off, and leave the land and sea 
Sleeping in bright tranquillity — 
Fresh as if day again were born. 
Again upon the lap of Morn ! 
When the light blossoms, rudely torn 
And scatter'd at the whirlwind's will, 
Hang floating in the pure air still, 
Filling it all with precious balm. 
In gratitude for this sweet calm ; 
And every drop the thunder-showers 
Have left upon the grass and flowers 
Sparkles, as 'tw^ere the lightning gem 
Whose liquid flame is born of them ! 

When, 'stead of one unchanging breeze, 
There blow a thousand gentle airs. 
And each a different perfume bears, — 

As if the loveliest plants and trees 



^^O LALLA ROOKH. 

Had vassal breezes of their own 
To watch and wait on them alone, 
And waft no other breath than theirs ! 
When the blue waters rise and fall, 
In sleepy sunshine mantling all ; 
And even that swell the tempest leaves 
Is like the full and silent heaves 
Of lovers' hearts, when newly blest, 
Too newly to be quite at rest ! 

Such was the golden hour that broke 
Upon the world when Hinda woke 
From her long trance, and heard around 
No motion but the water's sound 
Rippling against the vessel's side. 

As slow it mounted o'er the tide. 

But where is she ? — her eyes are dark, 
Are wilder'd still, — is this the bark. 
The same, that from Harmozia's bay 
Bore her at morn, — whose bloody way 
The sea-dog tracks ? — no ; strange and new 
Is all that meets her wondering view. 
Upon a galliot's deck she lies. 

Beneath no rich pavilion's shade, 
No plumes, to fan her sleeping eyes, 

Nor jasmine on her pillow laid. 
But the rude litter, roughly spread 
With war cloaks, is her homely bed. 
And shawl and sash, on javelins hung, 
For awning o'er her head are flung. 
Shuddering she look'd around, — there lay 



LALLA ROOKH. 211 

A group of warriors in the sun 
Resting their limbs, as for that day 

Their ministry of death were done. 
Some gazing on the drowsy sea, 
Lost in unconscious reverie ; 
And some, who seem'd but ill to brook 
That sluggish calm, with many a look 
To the slack sail impatient cast, 
As loose it iiagg'd around the mast. 

Blest Alia ! who shall save her now ? 

There's not in all that warrior-band 
One Arab sword, one turban'd brow 

From her own faithful Moslem land. 
Their garb — the leathern belt that wraps 

Each yellow vest — that rebel hue — 
The Tartar fleece upon their caps — • 

Yes — yes — her fears are all too true. 
And Heaven hath, in this dreadful hour, 
Abandon'd her to Hafed's power, — 
Hafed, the Gheber ! — at the thought 

Her very heart's blood chills within ; 
He, whom her soul was hourly taught 

To loathe, as some foul fiend of sin, 
Some minister, whom Hell had sent 
To spread its blast, where'er he went. 
And fling, as o'er our earth he trod. 
His shadow betwixt man and God ! 
And she is now his captive, — thrown 
In his fierce hands, alive, alone ; 
His the infuriate band she sees, 



212 



LALLA ROOKH. 



All infidels — all enemies ! 
What was the daring hope that then 
Cross'd her like lightning, as again, 
With boldness that despair had lent, 

She darted through that armed crowd 
A look so searching, so intent, 

That e'en the sternest warrior bow'd 
Abash'd, when he her glances caught, 
As if he guessed whose form they sought. 
But no, — she sees him not, — 'tis gone : 
The vision that before her shone 
Through all the maze of blood and storm, 
Is fled ; 'twas but a phantom form, — 




LALLA ROOKH. 



213 



One of those pass- 
ing, rainbow 
dreams, 

Half light, half 
shade, which 
fancy's beams 

Paint on the fleeting 
mists that roll 

In trance or slumber 
round the soul ! 

But now the bark, 
with livelier 
bound. 
Scales the blue 
wave ; the 
crew's in mo- 
tion ; 

The oars are out, 
and with light 
sound 
Break the bright 
mirror of the 
ocean 



:sL^ 




214 LALLA ROOKH. 

Scattering its brilliant fragments round. 

And now she sees — with horror sees — 
Their course is toward that mountain hold, 

Those towers, that make her life-blood freeze, 

Where Mecca's godless enemies 

Lie, like beleaguer'd scorpions, roll'd 
In their last deadly, venomous fold ! 

Amid th' illumined land and flood 

Sunless that mighty mountain stood ; 

Save where, above its awful head. 

There shone a flaming cloud, blood-red, 

As 'twere the flag of destiny 

Hung out to mark where death would be ! 

Had her bewilder'd mind the power 

Of thought in this terrific hour. 

She well might marvel where or how 

Man's foot could scale that mountain's brow^ 

Since ne'er had Arab heard or known 

Of path but through the glen alone. 

But every thought was lost in fear, 

When, as their bounding bark drew near 

The craggy base, she felt the waves 

Hurry them towards those dismal caves 

That from the deep in windings pass 

Beneath that mount's volcanic mass ; 

And loud a voice on deck commands 

To lower the mast and light the brands! 

Instantly o'er the dashing tide 

Within a cavern's mouth they glide, 

Gloomy as that eternal porch 



LALLA ROOKH. 21 5 

Through which departed spirits go ; — 
Not e'en the flare of brand and torch 

Its flickering Ught could further throw 

Than the thick flood that boil'd below. 
Silent they floated ; as if each 
Sat breathless, and too awed for speech 
In that dark chasm, where even sound 
Seem'd dark, — so sullenly around 
The goblin echoes of the cave 
Mutter'd it o'er the long black wave, 
As 'twere some secret of the grave ! 
But soft — they pause — the current turns 

Beneath them from its onward track. 
Some mighty, unseen barrier spurns 

The vexed tide, all foaming, back. 
And scarce the oar's redoubled force 
Can stem the eddy's whirling course ; 
When, hark ! — some desperate foot has sprung 
Among the rocks, — the chain is flung, — 
The oars are up, — the grapple clings. 
And the toss'd bark in moorings swings. 
Just then a daybeam through the shade 
Broke tremulous ; but ere the maid 
Can see from whence the brightness steals, 
Upon her brow she shuddering feels 
A viewless hand, that promptly ties 
A bandage round her burning eyes ; 
While the rude litter where she lies. 
Uplifted by the warrior throng. 
O'er the steep rocks is borne along. 



2l6 LALLA ROOKH. 

Blest power of sunshine ! genial Day, 
What balm, what life, is in thy ray ! 
To feel thee is such real bliss. 
That had the world no joy but this. 
To sit in sunshine calm and sweet, — 
It were a world too exquisite 
For man to leave it for the gloom. 
The deep, cold shadow of the tomb ! 
E'en Hinda, though she saw not wiiere 

Or w^hither wound the perilous road, 
Yet knew by that awakening air 

Which suddenly around her glow'd. 
That they had risen from darkness then. 
And breathed the sunny w^orld again ! 
But soon this balmy freshness fled ; 
For now the steepy labyrinth led 
Through damp and gloom, — 'mid crash of boughs 
And fall of loosen'd crags that rouse 
The leopard from his hungry sleep, 

Who, starting, thinks each crag a prey. 
And long is heard from steep to steep, 

Chasing them down their thundering w^ay ! 
The jackal's cry, — the distant moan 
Of the hyena, fierce and lone ; 
And that eternal, saddening sound 

Of torrents in the glen beneath. 
As 'twere the ever-dark profound 

That rolls beneath the Bridge of Death ! 
Ah, all is fearful, — e'en to see. 

To gaze on those terrific things 
She now but blindly hears, w^ould be 



LALLA ROOKH. 21/ 

Relief to her imaginings ! 
Since never yet was shape so dread, 

But fancy, thus in darkness thrown, 
And by such sounds of horror fed. 

Could frame more dreadful of her own. 

But does she dream ? Has fear again 
Perplex'd the workings of her brain. 
Or did a voice, all music, then 
Come from the gloom, low whispering near, — 
"Tremble not, love, thy Gheber's here?" 
She does not dream, — all sense, all ear, 
She drinks the words, " Thy Gheber's here." 
'Twas his own voice, — she could not err, — 

Throughout the breathing world's extent 
There was but one such voice for her, 

So kind, so soft, so eloquent ! 
Oh ! sooner shall the rose of May 

Mistake her own sweet nightingale, 
And to some meaner minstrel's lay 

Open her bosom's glowing veil. 
Than love shall ever doubt a tone, 

A breath, of the beloved one ! 

Though blest, 'mid all her ills, to think 

She has that one beloved near, 
Whose smile, though met on ruin's brink, 

Hath power to make e'en ruin dear, — • 
Yet soon this gleam of rapture, cross'd 
By fears for him, is chill'd and lost. 
How shall the ruthless Hafed brook 



2i8 LALLA ROOKH. 

That one of Gheber blood should look, 
With aught but curses in his eye, 
On her, — a maid of Araby, — 
A Moslem maid, — the child of him 

Whose bloody banner's dire success 
Hath left their altars cold and dim, 
And their fair land a wilderness ! 
And, worse than all, that night of blood 

Which comes so fast — oh ! who shall stay 
The sword that once hath tasted food 
Of Persian hearts, or turn its way ? 
What arm shall then the victim cover. 
Or from her father shield her lover ? 
^' Save him, my God ! " she inly cries, — 
^' Save him this night ; and if thine eyes 

Have ever welcomed with delight 
The sinner's tears, the sacrifice 

Of sinners' hearts, guard him this night, 
And here, before thy throne, I swear 
From my heart's inmost core to tear 

Love, hope, remembrance, though they be 
Link'd with each quivering life-string there, 

And give it bleeding all to Thee ! 
Let him but live, the burning tear. 
The sighs, so sinful, yet so dear. 
Which have been all too much his own. 
Shall from this hour be Heaven's alone. 
Youth pass'd in penitence, and age 
In long and painful pilgrimage, 
Shall leave no traces of the flame 
That wastes me now, — nor shall his name 



LALLA ROOKH. 2ig 

E'er bless my lips, but when I pray 
For his dear spirit, that away 
Casting from its angelic ray 
Th' eclipse of earth, he too may shine 
Redeem'd, all-glorious and all thine ! 
Think — think what victory to win 
One radiant soul like his from sin, — 
One wandering star of virtue back 
To its own native, heavenward track ! 
Let him but live, and both are thine. 

Together thine, — for, bless'd or cross'd, 
Living or dead, his doom is mine. 

And if /w perish, both are lost ! " 

The next evening Lalla Rookh was entreated by 
her ladies to continue the relation of her wonderful 
dream ; but the fearful interest that hung round the 
fate of Hinda and her lover had completely removed 
every trace of it from her mind ; — much to the 
•disappointment of a fair seer or two in her train, 
who prided themselves on their skill in interpreting 
visions, and who had already remarked, as an un- 
lucky omen, that the Princess, on the very morning 
after the dream, had worn a silk dyed with the 
iDlossoms of the sorrowful tree, Nilica. 

Fadladeen, whose wrath had more than once broken 
out during the recital of some parts of this most 
heterodox poem, seemed at length to have made 
up his mind to the infliction ; and took his seat 
this evening with all the patience of a martyr, while 



220 LALLA ROOKH. 

the Poet continued his profane and seditious story 
thus : 



To tearless eyes and hearts at ease 
The leafy shores and sun-bright seas, 
That lay beneath the mountain's height, 
Had been a fair, enchanting sight. 
'Twas one of those ambrosial eves 
A day of storm so often leaves 
At its calm setting, — when the west 
Opens her golden bowers of rest. 
And a moist radiance from the skies 
Shoots trembling down, as from the eyes 
Of some meek penitent, whose last. 
Bright hours atone for dark ones past. 
And whose sweet tears, o'er wrong forgiven, 
Shine, as they fall, with light from heaven ! 

'Twas stillness all, — the winds that late 

Had rush'd through Kerman's almond groves,. 
And shaken from her bowers of date 

That cooling feast the traveller loves. 
Now, luU'd to languor, scarcely curl 

The Green Sea w^ave, whose waters gleam 
Limpid, as if her mines of pearl 

Were melted all to form the stream ; 
And her fair islets, small and bright, 

With their green shores reflected there. 
Look like those Peri isles of light. 

That hang by spell-work in the air. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



221 




But vainly did these 
glories burst 
On Hinda's dazzled eyes, 

when first 
The bandage from her brow 

was taken, 
And pale and awed as those 

who waken 
In their dark tombs, — when, 

scowling near, 
The Searchers of the grave 

appear, — 
She shuddering turn'd to read 
her fate 

In the fierce eyes 
that flash'd around. 



And saw those towers all desolate, 

That o'er her head terrific frown'd, 
As if defying e'en the smile 



222 LALLA ROOKH. 

Of that soft heaven to gild their pile. 
In vain, with mingled hope and fear, 
She looks for him whose voice so dear 
Had come, like music, to her ear — 
Strange, mocking dream ! again 'tis fled. 
And, oh ! the shoots, the pangs, of dread 
That through her inmost bosom run, 

When voices from without proclaim 
*' Hafed, the Chief," — and, one by one, 

The warriors shout that fearful name ! 
He comes, — the rock resounds his tread, - 
How shall she dare to lift her head, 
Or meet those eyes, whose scorching glare 
Not Yemen's boldest sons can bear ? 
In w^iose red beam, the Moslem tells. 
Such rank and deadly lustre dwells. 
As in those hellish fires that light 
The mandrake's charnel leaves at night ! 
How shall she bear that voice's tone. 
At whose loud battle-cry alone 
Whole squadrons oft in panic ran, 
Scatter'd, like some vast caravan. 
When, stretch 'd at evening round the well, 
They hear the thirsting tiger's yell. 

Breathless she stands, with eyes cast down, 
Shrinking beneath the fiery frown 
Which, fancy tells her, from that brow 
Is flashing o'er her fiercely now; 
And shuddering, as she hears the tread 
Of his retiring warrior band. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



^^^ ^x-..- 



223 



Never was 
pause so 
full of 
dread ; 
Till Hafed with a trembling 

hand 
Took hers, and, leaning o'er 

her, said, 
<' Hinda ! " — that word was all 

he spoke, 
And 'twas enough, — the shriek 
that broke 
From her full bosom told the 
rest ; 
Panting with terror, joy, sur- 
prise. 
The maid but lifts her wonder- 
ing eyes, 
To hide 
them 
on her 
Ghe- 
ber's 
breast ! 
'Tis he, 'tis he, — the man of blood, 
The fellest of the Fire-fiend's brood, 
Hafed, the demon of the fight, 




224 LALLA ROOKH. 

Whose voice unnerves, whose glances blight, 
Is her own loved Gheber, mild 
And glorious as when first he smiled 
In her lone tower, and left such beams 
Of his pure eye to light her dreams. 
That she believed her bower had given 
Rest to some wanderer from heaven ! 

Moments there are, and this was one, 
Snatch'd like a minute's gleam of sun 
Amid the black simoom's eclipse, — 

Or like those verdant spots that bloom 
Around the crater's burning lips, 

Sweetening the very edge of doom ! 
The past, — the future, — all that fate 
Can bring of dark or desperate 
Around such hours, but makes them cast 
Intenser radiance while they last ! 

E'en he, this youth, — though dimm'd and gone 

Each star of hope that cheer'd him on, — 

His glories lost, his cause betray'd, 

Iran, his dear-loved country, made 

A land of carcasses and slaves. 

One dreary waste of chains and graves ! 

Himself but lingering, dead at heart. 

To see the last, long-struggling breath 
Of Liberty's great soul depart. 

Then lay him down, and share her death, — 
E'en he, so sunk in wretchedness. 

With doom still darker gathering o'er him, 



LALLA ROOKH. 22$ 

Yet in this moment's pure caress, 

In the mild eyes that shone before him. 
Beaming that blest assurance, worth 
All other transports known on earth, 
That he was loved, — well, warmly loved, — 
Oh ! in this precious hour he proved 
How deep, how thorough-felt the glow 
Of rapture, kindling out of woe ; — 
How exquisite one single drop 
Of bliss, thus sparkling to the top 
Of misery's cup, — how keenly quaff 'd, 
Though death must follow on the draught ! 

She too, while gazing on those eyes 

That sink into her soul so deep. 
Forgets all fears, all miseries, 

Or feels them like the wretch in sleep, 
Whom fancy cheats into a smile. 
Who dreams of joy, and sobs the while ! 

The mighty ruins where they stood. 
Upon the mount's high, rocky verge, 

Lay open towards the ocean flood, 
Where Mghtly o'er th' illumined surge 

Many a fair bark that, all the day, 

Had lurk'd in sheltering creek or bay. 

Now bounded on and gave their sails. 

Yet dripping, to the evening gales ; 

Like eagles, when the storm is done. 

Spreading their wet wings in the sun. 

The beauteous clouds, though daylight's star 

Had sunk behind the hills of Lar, 



226 



LALLA ROOKH. 



Were still with lingering glories bright, — 
As if, to grace the gorgeous west, 

The Spirit of departing Light 
That eve had left its sunny vest 

Behind him, ere he wing'd his flight. 
Never was scene so form'd for love ! 
Beneath them waves of crystal move 
In silent swell, heaven glows above ; 
And their pure hearts, to transport given. 
Swell like the wave, and glow like heaven ! 
But, ah ! too soon that dream is past ; 

Again, again her fear returns ; — 
Night, dreadful night, is gathering fast, 

More faintly the horizon burns, 
And every rosy tint that lay 




LALLA ROOKH. 22J 

On the smooth sea hath died av/ay. 

Hastily to the darkening skies 

A glance she casts, then wildly cries : 

" ' At night,' he said — and, look, 'tis near — 

Fly, fly — if yet thou lov'st me, fly — 
Soon will his murderous band be here. 

And I shall see thee bleed and die. 
Hush ! — heard'st thou not the tramp of men 
Sounding from yonder fearful glen ! — 
Perhaps e'en now they climb the wood — 

Fly, fly — though still the west is bright, 
He'll come — oh ! yes — he wants thy blood — 

I know him — he'll not wait for night ! " 

In terrors e'en to agony 

She clings around the wondering Chief; — 
" Alas, poor wilder'd maid ! to me 

Thou ow'st this raving trance of grief. 
Lost as I am, nought ever grew 
Beneath my shade but perish'd too, — 
My doom is like the Dead-Sea air. 
And nothing lives that enters there ! 
Why were our barks together driven 
Beneath this morning's furious heaven ? 
Why, when I saw the prize that chance 

Had thrown into my desperate arms, — 
When, casting but a single glance 

Upon thy pale and prostrate charms, 
I vow'd (though watching viewless o'er 

Thy safety through that hour's alarms) 
To meet th' unmanning sight no more, — 



228 LALLA ROOKH. 

Why have I broke that heart-wrung vow ? 
Why weakly, madly, met thee now ? — 
Start not, — that noise is but the shock 

Of torrents through yon valley hurl'd; 
Dread nothing here, — upon this rock 

We stand above the jarring world, 
AUke beyond its hope, its dread. 
In gloomy safety, like the dead ! 
Or, could e'en earth and hell unite 
In league to storm this sacred height, 
Fear nothing now, — myself, to-night. 
And each o'erlooking star that dwells 
Near God, will be thy sentinels ; 
And, ere tomorrow's dawn shall glow, 
Back to thy sire — " 

" To-morrow ! — no," 
The maiden scream'd, — " thou'lt never see 
To-morrow's sun — death, death will be 
The night-cry through each reeking tower, 
Unless we fly, ay, fly this hour! 
Thou art betray'd — some wretch who knew 
That dreadful glen's mysterious clew — 
Nay, doubt not — by yon stars, 'tis true — 
Hath sold thee to my vengeful sire ; 
This morning, with that smile so dire 
He wears in joy, he told me all, 
And stamp'd in triumph through our hall. 
As though thy heart already beat 
Its last life-throb beneath his feet ! 
Good Heaven, how little dream'd I then 

His victim was my own loved youth ! — 



LALLA ROOKH. 229 

Fly — send — let some one watch the glen 

By all my hopes of heaven, 'tis truth ! " 
Oh ! colder than the wind that freezes 

Founts that but now in sunshine play'd, 
Is that congealing pang which seizes 

The trusting bosom when betray'd. 
He felt it — deeply felt — and stood, 
As if the tale had frozen his blood, 

So mazed and motionless was he ; 
Like one whom sudden spells enchant, 
Or some mute, marble habitant 

Of the still Halls of Ishmonie ! 

But soon the painful chill was o'er. 
And his great soul, herself once more, 
Look'd from his brow in all the rays 
Of her best, happiest, grandest days ! 
Never, in moment most elate, 

Did that high spirit loftier rise ; 
While bright, serene, determinate. 

His looks are lifted to the skies, 
As if the signal-lights of fate 

Were shining in those awful eyes ! 
'Tis come, — his hour of martyrdom 
In Iran's sacred cause is come ; 
And though his life hath pass'd away 
Like lightning on a stormy day. 
Yet shall his death-hour leave a track 

Of glory, permanent and bright, 
To which the brave of after-times. 
The suffering brave, shall long look back 



230 LALLA ROOKH. 

With proud regret, and by its light 

Watch through the hours of slavery's night 
For vengeance on th' oppressor's crimes ! 
This rock, his monument aloft. 

Shall speak the tale to many an age ; 
And hither bards and heroes oft 

Shall come in secret pilgrimage, 
And bring their warrior sons, and tell 
The wondering boys where Hafed fell, 
And swear them on those lone remains 
Of their lost country's ancient fanes, 
Never — while breath of life shall live 
Within them — never to forgive 
Th' accursed race, whose ruthless chain 
Hath left on Iran's neck a stain 
Blood, blood alone can cleanse again ! 

Such are the swelling thoughts that now 
Enthrone themselves on Hafed's brow ; 
And ne'er did saint of Issa gaze 

On the red wreath, for martyrs twined, 
More proudly than the youth surveys 

That pile, which through the gloom behind 
Half lighted by the altar's fire, 
Glimmers, — • his destined funeral pyre ! 
Heap'd by his own, his comrades' hands, 

Of every wood of odorous breath, 
There, by the Fire-God's shrine it stands, 

Ready to fold in radiant death 
The few still left of those who swore 
To perish there, when hope was o'er, — 



LALLA ROOKH. 231 

The few, to whom that couch of flame, 
Which rescues them from bonds and shame, 
Is sweet and welcome as the bed 
For their own infant Prophet spread, 
When pitying Heaven to roses turn'd 
The death-flames that beneath him burn'd ! 
With watchfulness the maid attends 
His rapid glance, where'er it bends — 
Why shoot his eyes such awful beams ? 
What plans he now ? what thinks or dreams ? 
Alas ! why stands he musing here, 
When every moment teems with fear ? 
" Hafed, my own beloved lord," 
She kneeling cries, — " first, last adored ! 
If in that soul thou'st ever felt 

Half what thy lips impassion'd swore, 
Here, on my knees that never knelt 

To any but their God before, 
I pray thee, as thou lov'st me, fly — 
Now, now — ere yet their blades are nigh. 
Oh, haste — the bark that bore me hither 

Can waft us o'er yon darkening sea 
East — west — alas, I care not whither 

So thou art safe, and I with thee ! 
Go where we will, this hand in thine, 

Those eyes before me smiUng thus, 
Through good and ill, through storm and shine^ 

The world's a world of love for us ! 
On some calm, blessed shore we'll dwell, 
Where 'tis no crime to love too well, — 
Where thus to worship tenderly 



232 LALLA ROOKH. 

An erring child of light like thee 
Will not be sin ; or, if it be, 
Where we may weep our faults away 
Together kneeling, night and day, — 
Thou, for my sake, at Alla's shrine, 
And I — at any God's, for thine ! " 

Wildly these passionate words she spoke. 

Then hung her head, and wept for shame ; 
Sobbing, as if a heart-string broke 

With every deep-heaved sob that came. 
While he, young, warm — oh ! wonder not 
If for a moment pride and fame. 
His oath, his cause, that shrine of flame, 
And Iran's self are all forgot 
For her whom at his feet he sees 
Kneeling in speechless agonies. 
No, blame him not, if Hope awhile 
Dawn'd in his soul, and threw her smile 
O'er hours to come, — o'er days and nights 
Wing'd with those precious, pure delights 
Which she, who bends all beauteous there, 
Was born to kindle and to share ! 

A tear or two, which, as he bow^'d 

To raise the suppliant, trembling stole. 
First warn'd him of this dangerous cloud 

Of softness passing o'er his soul. 
Starting, he brush'd the drops away. 
Unworthy o'er that cheek to stray ; — 
Like one who, on the morn of fight, 



LALLA ROOKH. 233 

Shakes from his sword the dews of night, 
That had but dimm'd, not stain'd, its light. 
Yet, though subdued th' unnerving thriU, 
Its warmth, its weakness, Unger'd still, 

So touching in each look and tone, 
That the fond, fearing, hoping maid 
Half counted on the flight she pray'd. 

Half thought the hero's soul was grown 

As soft, as yielding as her own. 
And smiled and bless'd him, while he said : 
" Yes, — if there be some happier sphere 
Where fadeless truth like ours is dear. 
If there be any land of rest 

For those who love and ne'er forget. 
Oh ! comfort thee, — for safe and blest 

We'll meet in that calm region yet ! " 
Scarce had she time to ask her heart 
If good or ill these words impart. 
When the roused youth impatient flew 
To the tower-wall, where, high in view, 
A ponderous sea-horn hung, and blew 
A signal, deep and dread as those 
The storm-fiend at his rising blows. 
Full well his chieftains, sworn and true 
Through life and death, that signal knew ; 
For 'twas th' appointed warning-blast, 
Th' alarm, to tell when hope was past 
And the tremendous death-die cast ! 
And there, upon the mouldering tower. 
Hath hung this sea-horn many an hour. 
Ready to sound o'er land and sea 



234 



LALLA ROOKH. 




That dirge-note of the brave and free. 
They came, — his chieftains at the call 
Came slowly round, and with them all — 
Alas ! how few ! — the worn remains 
Of those who late o'er Kerman's plains 
Went daily prancing to the clash 



LALLA ROOKH. 



235 




^ Of Moorish zel and tymbalon, 

Catching new hope from every 
flash 
Of their long lances in the sun, 
And, as their coursers charged the wind, 
And the white ox-tails stream'd behind, 
Looking as if the steeds they rode 
Were wing'd, and every chief a god ! 

How fallen, how alter'd now ! how wan 

Each scarred and faded visage shone, 

As round the burning shrine they came ; — 

How deadly was the glare it cast, 
As mute they paused before the flame 

To light their torches as they pass'd ! 



236 LALLA ROOKH. 

'Twas silence all, — the youth had plann'd 
The duties of his soldier-band; 
And each determined brow declares 
His faithful chieftains well know theirs. 

But minutes speed, — night gems the skies, — 
And oh, how soon, ye blessed eyes 
That look from heaven, ye may behold 
Sights that will turn your star-fires cold ! 
Breathless with awe, impatience, hope. 
The maiden sees the veteran group 
Her litter silently prepare, 

And lay it at her trembling feet ; — 
And now the youth, with gentle care, 

Hath placed her in the shelter'd seat. 
And press'd her hand, — that lingering press 

Of hands, that for the last time sever ; 
Of hearts, whose pulse of happiness. 

When that hold breaks, is dead for ever. 
And yet to Jier this sad caress 

Gives hope, — so fondly hope can err ! 
'Twas joy, she thought, joy's mute excess, — 

Their happy flight's dear harbinger ; 
'Twas warmth, assurance, tenderness, — 

'Twas anything but leaving her. 

" Haste, haste ! " she cried, " the clouds grow dark. 
But still, ere night, we'll reach the bark ; 
And by to-morrow's dawn — oh, bliss ! — 

With thee upon the sun-bright deep. 
Far off, I'll but remember this. 



LALLA ROOKH. 237 

As some dark vanish'd dream of sleep ! 
And thou — " But ha ! he answers not — 

Good Heaven ! — and does she go alone ? 
She now has reach'd that dismal spot 

Where, some hours since, his voice's tone 
Had come to soothe her fears and ills, 
Sweet as the angel Israfil's, 
When every leaf on Eden's tree 
Is trembling to his minstrelsy; 
Yet now — oh, now, he is not nigh — 

" Hafed ! my Hafed ! if it be 
Thy will, thy doom, this night to die, 

Let me but stay to die with thee, 
And I will bless thy loved name. 
Till the last life-breath leave this frame. 
Oh ! let our lips, our cheeks, be laid 
But near each other while they fade ; 
Let us but mix our parting breaths. 
And I can die ten thousand deaths ! 
You too, who hurry me away 
So cruelly, one moment stay — 

Oh ! stay — one moment is not much — 
He yet may come — for him I pray — 
Hafed ! dear Hafed ! " — all the way 

In wild lamentings, that would touch 
A heart of stone, she shriek'd his name 
To the dark woods, — no Hafed came. 
No, hapless pair, you've look'd your last ; 

Your hearts should both have broken then : 
The dream is o'er, your doom is cast, — 

You'll never meet on earth again ! 



^38 LALLA ROOKH. 

Alas for him, who hears her cries ! 

Still half-way down the steep he stands, 
Watching with fix'd and feverish eyes 

The glimmer of those burning brands, 
. That down the rocks, with mournful ray, 
Light all he loves on earth away ! 
Hopeless as they who far at sea 

By the cold moon have just consigned 
The corse of one, loved tenderly. 
To the bleak flood they leave behind ; 
And on the deck still lingering stay, 
And long look back, with sad delay, 
To watch the moonlight on the wave, 
That ripples o'er that cheerless grave. 

But see ! he starts, — what heard he then ? 
That dreadful shout ! — across the glen 
From the land side it comes, and loud 
Rings through the chasm ;' as if the crowd 
Of fearful things that haunt that dell. 
Its Gholes and Dives and shapes of hell, 
Had all in one dread howl broke out. 
So loud, so terrible that shout ! 
" They come, — the Moslems come ! " he cries, 
His proud soul mounting to his eyes ; 
^* Now, spirits of the brave, who roam 
Enfranchised through yon starry dome, 
Rejoice, — for souls of kindred fire 
Are on the wing to join your choir ! " 
He said ; and, light as bridegrooms bound 
To their young loves, reclimb'd the steep 



LALLA ROOKH. 239 

And gain'd the shrine : his chiefs stood round, — 

Their swords, as with instinctive leap, 
Together, at that cry accursed. 
Had from their sheaths, like sunbeams, burst. 
And hark ! — again, again it rings ; 
Near and more near its echoings 
Peal through the chasm ; — oh ! who that then 
Had seen those listening warrior men. 
With their swords grasp'd, their eyes of flame 
Turn'd on their Chief, could doubt the shame, 
Th' indignant shame, with which they thrill 
To hear those shouts and yet stand still ? 
He read their thoughts, — they were his own, — 

" What 1 while our arms can wield these 
blades, 
Shall we die tamely, die alone, — 

Without one victim to our shades, 
One Moslem heart, where, buried deep, 
The sabre from its toil may sleep ? 
T^o — God of Iran's burning skies ! 
Thou scorn'st th' inglorious sacrifice. 
No — though of all earth's hopes bereft. 
Life, swords, and vengeance still are left. 
We'll make yon valley's reeking caves 

Live in the awe-struck minds of men 
Till tyrants shudder when their slaves 

Tell of the Gheber's bloody glen. 
Follow, brave hearts ! this pile remains 
Our refuge still from life and chains ; 
But his the best, the holiest bed, 
Who sinks entomb'd in Moslem dead ! " 



240 LALLA ROOKH. 

Down the precipitous rocks they sprung, 
While vigour, more than human, strung 
Each arm and heart. Th' exulting foe 
Still through the dark defiles below, 
Track'd by his torches' lurid fire, 

Wound slow, as through Golconda's vale 
The mighty serpent, in his ire. 

Glides on with glittering, deadly trail. 
No torch the Ghebers need, — so well 
They know each mystery of the dell. 

So oft have, in their wanderings, 
Cross'd the wild race that round them dwell, 
The very tigers from their delves 

Look out, and let them pass, as things 
Untamed and fearless Uke themselves ! 

There was a deep ravine, that lay 

Yet darkling in the Moslem's way, — 

Fit spot to make invaders rue 

The many fallen before the few. 

The torrents from that morning's sky 

Had fill'd the narrow chasm breast-high, 

And on each side, aloft and wild, 

Huge cliffs and toppling crags were piled, — 

The guards with which young Freedom lines 

The pathways to her mountain shrines. 

Here, at this pass, the scanty band 

Of Iran's last avengers stand ; 

Here wait, in silence like the dead. 

And listen for the Moslems' tread 

So anxiously, the carrion bird 

Above them flaps his wings unheard ! 



LALLA ROOKH. 241 

They come, — that plunge into the water 
Gives signal for the work of slaughter. 
Now, Ghebers, now, — if e'er your blades 

Had point or prowess, prove them now ! 
Woe to the file that foremost wades ! 

They come, — a falchion greets each brow, 
And as they tumble, trunk on trunk, 
Beneath the gory waters sunk, 
Still o'er their drowning bodies press 
New victims quick and numberless ; 
Till scarce an arm in Hafed's band. 

So fierce their toil, hath power to stir, 
But listless from each crimson hand 

The sword hangs, clogg'd with massacre. 
Never was horde of tyrants met 
With bloodier welcome, — never yet 
To patriot vengeance hath the sword 
More terrible libations pour'd ! 
All up the dreary, long ravine, 
By the red, murky glimmer seen 
Of half-quench'd brands, that o'er the flood 
Lie scatter'd round and burn in blood, 
What ruin glares ! what carnage swims ! 
Heads, blazing turbans, quivering limbs. 
Lost swords that, dropp'd from many a hand. 
In that thick pool of slaughter stand, — 
Wretches who, wading, half on fire 

From the toss'd brands that round them fly, 
'Twixt flood and flame in shrieks expire ; 

And some who, grasp'd by those that die, 
Sink woundless with them, smother'd o'er 



242 LALLA ROOKH. 

In their dead brethren's gushing gore ! 
But vainly hundreds, thousands bleed, 
Still hundreds, thousands more succeed ; 
Countless as towards some flame at night 
The north's dark insects wing their flight. 
And quench or perish in its light. 
To this terrific spot they pour. 
Till, bridged with Moslem bodies o'er. 
It bears aloft their slippery tread. 
And o'er the dying and the dead — 
Tremendous causeway ! — on they pass. 
Then, hapless Ghebers, then, alas ! 

What hope was left for you ? — for you, 
Whose yet warm pile of sacrifice 
Is smoking in their vengeful eyes, — 

Whose swords how keen, how fierce, they 
knew. 

And burn with shame to find how few. 
Crush'd down by that vast multitude. 
Some found their graves where first they 

stood ; 
While some with hardier struggle died. 
And still fought on by Hafed's side, 
Who, fronting to the foe, trod back 
Towards the high towers his gory track ; 
And as a lion swept away 

By sudden swell of Jordan's pride 
From the wild covert where he lay, 

Long battles with th' o'erwhelming tide, 
So fought he back with fierce delay, 
And kept both foes and fate at bay ! 



LALLA ROOKH. 243; 

But whither now ? their track is lost, 

Their prey escaped, — guide, torches gone, — 

By torrent-beds and labyrinths cross'd, 
The scatter'd crowd rush blindly on. 

" Curse on those tardy lights that wind," 

They panting cry, " so far behind, — 

Oh for a bloodhound's precious scent, 

To track the way the Gheber went ! " 

Vain wish, — confusedly along 

They rush, more desperate as more wrong ; 

Till, wilder'd by the far-off lights 

Yet glittering up those gloomy heights. 

Their footing, mazed and lost, they miss, 

And down the darkling precipice 

Are dash'd into the deep abyss. 

Or midway hang, impaled on rocks, 

A banquet, yet alive, for flocks 

Of ravening vultures, while the dell 

Re-echoes with each horrible yell. 

Those sounds — the last to vengeance dear, 
That e'er shall ring in Hafed's ear — 
Now reach'd him, as aloft, alone. 
Upon the steep way, breathless thrown, 
He lay beside his reeking blade, 

Resign'd, as if life's task were o'er. 
Its last blood-offering amply paid. 

And Iran's self could claim no more. 
One only thought, one lingering beam, 
Now broke across his dizzy dream 
Of pain and weariness, — 'twas she. 



244 LALLA ROOKH. 

His heart's pure planet, shining yet 
Above the waste of memory 

When all life's other lights were set. 
And never to his mind before 
Her image such enchantment wore. 
It seem'd as if each thought that stain'd, 

Each fear that chill'd, their loves was past, 
And not one cloud of earth remain'd 

Between him and her glory cast ; — 
As if to charms before so bright, 

New grace from other worlds was given. 
And his soul saw her by the light 

Now breaking o'er itself from heaven ! 

A voice spoke near him, — 'twas the tone 

Of a loved friend, the only one 

Of all his warriors, left with life 

From that short night's tremendous strife : 

" And must we then, my Chief, die here ! — 

Foes round us, and the shrine so near ! " 

These words have roused the last remains 

Of life within him — " What ! not yet 
Beyond the reach of Moslem chains ! " 

The thought could e'en make Death forget 
His icy bondage, — with a bound 
He springs, all bleeding, from the ground. 
And grasps his comrade's arm, now grown 
E'en feebler, heavier, than his own. 
And up the painful pathway leads, 
Death gaining on each step he treads. 
Speed them, thou God, who heard'st their vow ! 



LALLA ROOKH. 245 

They mount — they bleed — oh ! save them now ! — 

The crags are red they've clamber'd o'er, 

The rock-weed's dripping with their gore — 

Thy blade, too, Hafed, false at length, 

Now breaks beneath thy tottering strength — 

Haste, haste, — the voices of the Foe 

Come near and nearer from below — 

One effort more — thank Heaven ! 'tis past ; 

They've gain'd the topmost steep at last, 

And now they touch the temple's walls, 

Now Hafed sees the Fire divine — 
When, lo ! his weak, worn comrade falls 

Dead on the threshold of the shrine. 
*' Alas, brave soul, too quickly fled ! 

And must I leave thee withering here. 
The sport of every rufBan's tread, 

The mark for every coward's spear ? 
No, by yon altar's sacred beams ! " 
He cries, and with a strength that seems 
Not of this world, uplifts the frame 
Of the fallen chief, and towards the flame 
Bears him along ; — with death-damp hand 

The corpse upon the pyre he lays. 
Then lights the consecrated brand, 

And fires the pile, whose sudden blaze 
Like lightning bursts o'er Oman's Sea. 
*' Now, Freedom's God ! I come to thee," 
The youth exclaims, and with a smile 
Of triumph vaulting on the pile, 
In that last effort, ere the fires 
Have harm'd one glorious limb, expires ! 



246 LALLA ROOKH. 

What shriek was that on Oman's tide ? 

It came from yonder drifting bark, 
That just has caught upon her side 

The death-light, and again is dark. 
It is the boat — ah, why delay'd ? — 
That bears the wretched Moslem maid ; 
Confided to the watchful care 

Of a small veteran band, with w^hom 
Their generous Chieftain would not share 

The secret of his final doom ; 
But hoped when Hinda, safe and free. 

Was render'd to her father's eyes. 
Their pardon, full and prompt, would be 

The ransom of so dear a prize. 
Unconscious, thus, of Hafed's fate. 
And proud to guard their beauteous freight. 
Scarce had they clear'd the surfy weaves 
That foam around those frightful caves, 
When the curst war-whoops, known so well. 
Came echoing from the distant dell. 
Sudden each oar, upheld and still. 

Hung dripping o'er the vessel's side. 
And, driving at the current's will. 

They rock'd along the whispering tide. 
While every eye, in mute dismay. 

Was toward that fatal mountain turn'd. 
Where the dim altar's quivering ray 

As yet all lone and tfanquil burn'd. 

Oh ! 'tis not, Hinda, in the power 
Of fancy's most terrific touch 



LALLA ROOKH. 247 

To paint thy pangs in that dread hour, — 

Thy silent agony : 'twas such 
As those who feel could paint too well, 
But none e'er felt and lived to tell ! 
'Twas not alone the dreary state 
Of a lorn spirit, crush'd by fate. 
When, though no more remains to dread, 

The panic chill will not depart ; 
When, though the inmate Hope be dead, 

Her ghost still haunts the mouldering heart. 
No — pleasures, hopes, affections gone. 
The wretch may bear, and yet live on ; 
Like things within the cold rock found 
Alive when all's congeal'd around. 
But there's a blank repose in this, 
A calm stagnation, that were bliss 
To the keen, burning, harrowing pain. 
Now felt through all thy breast and brain, — 
That spasm of terror, mute, intense, — 
That breathless, agonized suspense. 
From whose hot throb, whose deadly aching, 
The heart hath no relief but breaking ! 

Calm is the wave, — heaven's brilliant lights 

Reflected dance beneath the prow. 
Time was when, on such lovely nights. 

She who is there, so desolate now. 
Could sit all cheerful, though alone, 

And ask no happier joy than seeing 
The starhght o'er the waters thrown ; 
No joy but that to make her blest, 



248 LALLA ROOKH. 

And the fresh, buoyant sense of being 
That bounds in youth's yet careless breast, — 
Itself a star, not borrowing light, 
But in its own glad essence bright. 
How different now ! — but, hark ! again 
The yell of havoc rings — brave men ! 
In vain with beating hearts ye stand 
On the bark's edge ; in vain each hand 
Half draws the falchion from its sheath : 

All's o'er, — in rust your blades may lie ; — = 
He at whose word they've scattered death 

E'en now, this night himself must die ! 
Well may ye look to yon dim tower, 

And ask, and wondering guess what means 
The battle-cry at this dead hour. 

Ah ! she could tell you, — she who leans 
Unheeded there, pale, sunk, aghast. 
With brow against the dew-cold mast : 

Too well she knows, — her more than life, 
Her soul's first idol and its last. 

Lies bleeding in that murderous strife. 

But see — what moves upon the height ? 
Some signal ! — 'tis a torch's light. 

What bodes its solitary glare ? 
In gasping silence towards the shrine 
All eyes are turn'd, — thine, Hinda, thine 

Fix their last failing life-beams there. 
'Twas but a moment, — fierce and high 
The death-pile blazed into the sky, 
And far away o'er rock and flood 



LALLA ROOKH. 

Its melancholy radiance sent ; 
While Hafed, like a vision, stood 
Reveal'd before the burning pyre, 
Tall, shadowy, like a Spirit of Fire 

Shrined in its own grand element ! 
" 'Tis he ! " the shuddering maid exclaims, — 

But, while she speaks, he's seen no more ; 
High burst in air the funeral flames. 

And Iran's hopes and hers are o'er ! 
One wild, heart-broken shriek she gave ; 



249 



^mi 




Than sprung as if to reach that blaze, 
Where still she fix'd her dying gaze, 
And gazing sunk into the wave, — 
Deep, deep, — where never care or pain 
Shall reach her innocent heart again ! 



Farewell, farewell to thee, Araby's daughter ! 

(Thus warbled a Peri beneath the dark sea.) 
No pearl ever lay under Oman's green water 

More pure in its shell than thy spirit in thee. 

Oh ! fair as the sea-flower close to thee growing, 
How light was thy heart till love's witchery came, 



2 50 LALLA ROOKH. 

Like the wind of the south o'er a summer lute blowing, 
And hush'd all its music, and wither'd its frame ! 

But long, upon Araby's green sunny highlands, 
Shall maids and their lovers remember the doom 

Of her who lies sleeping among the Pearl Islands, 
With nought but the sea-star to light up her tomb. 

And still, when the merry date-season is burning, 
And calls to the palm groves the young and the old, 

The happiest there, from their pastime returning 
At sunset, will weep when thy story is told. 

The young village maid, when with flowers she dresses 
Her dark flowing hair for some festival day, 

Will think of thy fate, till, neglecting her tresses. 
She mournfully turns from the mirror away. 

Nor shall Iran, beloved of her hero ! forget thee, — 
Though tyrants watch over her tears as they start, 

Close, close by the side of that hero she'll set thee, 
Embalm'd in the innermost shrine of her heart. 

Farewell — be it ours to embellish thy pillow 

With everything beauteous that grows in the deep ; 

Each flower of the rock and each gem of the billow 
Shall sweeten thy bed and illumine thy sleep. 

Around thee shall glisten the loveUest amber 
That ever the sorrowing sea-bird has wept ; 

With many a shell, in whose hollow-wreathed chamber 
We, Peris of Ocean, by moonlight have slept. 



LALLA ROOKH. 25 1 

We'll dive where the gardens of coral lie darkling, 
And plant all the rosiest stems at thy head ; 

We'll seek where the sands of the Caspian are 
sparkling, 
And gather their gold to strew over thy bed. 

Farewell — farewell — until pity's sweet fountain 
Is lost in the hearts of the fair and the brave, 
They'll weep for the Chieftain who died on that 
mountain, 
They'll weep for the Maiden who sleeps in this 
wave. 




The singular placidity with which Fadladeen had 
listened, during the latter part of this obnoxious story, 
surprised the Princess and Feramorz exceedingly, and 
even inclined towards him the hearts of these unsus- 
picious young persons, who little knew the source of a 
complacency so marvellous. The truth was, he had 
been organising, for the last few days, a most notable 
plan of persecution against the Poet, in consequence of 
some passages that had fallen from him on the second 
evening of recital, — which appeared to this worthy 



252 LALLA ROOKH. 

Chamberlain to contain language and principles for 
which nothing short of the summary criticism of the 
chabuk would be advisable. It was his intention, 
therefore, immediately on their arrival at Cashmere, 
to give information to the King of Bucharia of the very 
dangerous sentiments of his minstrel ; and if, unfortu- 
nately, that monarch did not act with suitable vigour 
on the occasion (that is, if he did not give the chabuk 
to Feramorz and a place to Fadladeen), there would be 
an end, he feared, of all legitimate government in 
Bucharia. He could not help, however, auguring better 
both for himself and the cause of potentates in general ; 
and it was the pleasure arising from these mingled 
anticipations that diffused such unusual satisfaction 
through his features, and made his eyes shine out, like 
poppies of the desert, over the wild and lifeless wilder- 
ness of that countenance. 

Having decided upon the Poet's chastisement in 
this manner, he thought it but humanity to spare him 
the minor tortures of criticism. Accordingly, w^hen 
they assembled next evening in the pavilion, and 
Lalla Rookh expected to see all the beauties of her 
bard melt away, one by one, in the acidity of criti- 
cism, like pearls in the cup of the Egyptian queen, 
he agreeably disappointed her by merely saying, 
with an ironical smile, that the merits of such a poem 
deserved to be tried at a much higher tribunal ; and 
then suddenly passing off into a panegyric upon all 
Mussulman sovereigns, more particularly his august 
and imperial master, Aurungzebe, — the wisest and 
best of the descendants of Timur, — who, among 



LALLA ROOKH. 255 

other great things he had done for mankind, had 
given to him (Fadladeen) the profitable posts of 
Betel-carrier and Taster of Sherbets to the Emperor, 
Chief Holder of the Girdle of Beautiful Forms, and 
Grand Nazir, or Chamberlain of the Haram. 

They were now not far from that forbidden river 
beyond which no pure Hindoo can pass, and were 
reposing for a time in the rich valley of Hussun 
Abdaul, which had always been a favourite resting- 
place of the Emperors in their annual migrations to 
Cashmere. Here often had the Light of the Faith, 
Jehan-Guire, wandered with his beloved and beautiful 
Nourmahal ; and here would Lalla Rookh have been 
happy to remain for ever, giving up the throne of 
Bucharia and the world for Feramorz and love in this 
sweet lonely valley. The time was now fast approach- 
ing when she must see him no longer, or see him with 
eyes whose every look belonged to another ; and there 
was a melancholy preciousness in these last moments, 
which made her heart cling to them as it would to life. 
During the latter part of the journey, indeed, she had 
sunk into a deep sadness, from which nothing but the 
presence of the young minstrel could awake her. Like 
those lamps in tombs, which only light up when the 
air is admitted, it was only at his approach that her 
eyes became smiling and animated. But here, in this 
dear valley, every moment was an age of pleasure; 
she saw him all day, and was, therefore, all day happy, 
— resembling, she often thought, the people of Zinge, 
who attribute the unfading cheerfulness they enjoy to 
one genial star that rises nightly over their heads. 



254 



LALLA ROOKH. 




The whole 
party, indeed, 
s e e m e d in 
their liveliest 

mood during the few days they 
passed in this delightful solitude 
The young attendants of the Prin 
cess, who were here allowed a freer range than they 
could safely be indulged with in a less sequestered 
place, ran wild among the gardens, and bounded 
through the meadows lightly as young roes over the 
aromatic plains of Tibet. While Fadladeen, besides 
the spiritual comfort he derived from a pilgrimage to 
the tomb of the saint from whom the valley is nam.ed, 
had opportunities of gratifying, in a small w^ay, his taste 
for victims, by putting to death some hundreds of those 
unfortunate little lizards, which all pious Mussulmans 
make it a point to kill, — taking for granted that the 
manner in which the creature hangs its head is meant 
as a mimicry of the attitude in which the faithful say 
their prayers ! 



LALLA ROOKH. 255 

About two miles from Hussun Abdaul were those 
Royal Gardens, which had grown beautiful under the 
care of so many lovely eyes, and were beautiful still, 
though those eyes could see them no longer. This 
place, with its flowers and its holy silence, inter- 
rupted only by the dipping of the wings of birds in 
its marble basins filled with the pure water of those 
hills, was to Lalla Rookh all that her heart could 
fancy of fragrance, coolness, and almost heavenly 
tranquillity, — as the Prophet said of Damascus, " it 
was too delicious ; " and here, in listening to the 
sweet voice of Feramorz, or reading in his eyes what 
he never dared to tell her, the most exquisite mo- 
ments of her whole life were passed. One evening 
when they had been talking of the Sultana Nour- 
mahal, — the Light of the Haram, who had so often 
wandered among these flowers, and fed with her 
own hands, in those marble basins, the small shining 
fishes of which she was so fond, — the youth, in or- 
der to delay the moment of separation, proposed to 
recite a short story, or rather rhapsody, of which this 
adored Sultana was the heroine. It related, he said, 
to the reconcilement of a sort of lovers' quarrel, 
which took place between her and the Emperor dur- 
ing a Feast of Roses at Cashmere ; and would remind 
the Princess of that difference between Haroun-al- 
Raschid and his fair mistress Marida, which was so 
happily made up by the soft strains of the musician 
Moussali. As the story was chiefly to be told in 
song, and Feramorz had unluckily forgotten his 
own lute in the valley, he borrowed the vina of 
Lalla Rookh's little Persian slave, and thus besran : 



256 



LALLA ROOKH. 




LALLA ROOKH. 257 

Like a bride, full of blushes, when lingering to take 

A last look of her mirror at night ere she goes ! 
When the shrines through the foliage are gleaming 

half shown. 
And each hallows the hour by some rites of its own. 
Here the music of prayer from a minaret swells. 
Here the Magian his urn full of perfume is 

swinging. 
And here, at the altar, a zone of sweet bells 

Round the waist of some fair Indian dancer is 

ringing. 
•Or to see it by moonlight, — when mellowly shines 
The light o'er its palaces, gardens, and shrines ; 
When the waterfalls gleam like a quick fall of stars, 
And the nightingale's hymn from the Isle of 

Chenars 
Is broken by laughs and light echoes of feet 
From the cool, shining walks where the young people 

meet. 
Or at morn, — when the magic of daylight awakes 
A new wonder each minute, as slowly it breaks, 
Hills, cupolas, fountains, call'd forth every one 
Out of darkne'ss, as they were just born of the sun ; 
When the Spirit of Fragrance is up with the day. 
From his haram of night-flowers stealing away. 
And the wind, full of wantonness, woos like a lover 
The young aspen-trees till they tremble all over; 
When the East is as warm as the light of first hopes, 

And Day, with his banner of radiance unfurl'd. 

Shines in through the mountainous portal that opes, 

Sublime, from that Valley of bliss to the world ! 



258 LALLA ROOKH. 

But never yet, by night or day, 
In dew of spring or summer's ray, 
Did the sweet Valley shine so gay 
As now it shines, — all love and light, 
Visions by day and feasts by night ! 
A happier smile illumes each brow. 

With quicker spread each heart uncloseSy. 
And all is ecstasy ; for now 

The Valley holds its Feast of Roses, — 
That joyous time, when pleasures pour 
Profusely round, and in their shower 
Hearts open, like the season's rose, 

The floweret of a hundred leaves. 
Expanding while the dew-fall flows. 

And every leaf its balm receives ! 

'Twas when the hour of evening came 

Upon the Lake, serene and cool ; 
When Day had hid his sultry flame 
Behind the palms of Baramoule ; 
When maids began to lift their heads, 
Refresh'd, from their embroider'd beds, 
Where they had slept the sun away. 
And waked to moonlight and to play. 
All were abroad, — the busiest hive 
On Bela's hills is less alive 
When saffron beds are full in flower. 
Than look'd the Valley in that hour. 
A thousand restless torches play'd 
Through every grove and island shade ; 
A thousand sparkling lamps were set 



LALLA ROOKH. 259 

On every dome and minaret ; 

And fields and pathways, far and near, 

Were lighted by a blaze so clear, 

That you could see, in wandering round, 

The smallest rose-leaf on the ground. 

Yet did the maids and matrons leave 

Their veils at home, that brilliant eve ; 

And there were glancing eyes about. 

And cheeks, that would not dare shine out 

In open day, but thought they might 

Look lovely then, because 'tw^as night ! 

And all were free, and wandering. 

And all exclaim'd to all they met 
That never did the summer bring 

So gay a Feast of Roses yet ; — 
The moon had never shed a light 

So clear as that which bless'd them there ; 
The roses ne'er shone half so bright, 

Nor they themselves look'd half so fair. 

And what a wilderness of flowers ! 

It seem'd as though from all the bowers 

And fairest fields of all the year 

The mingled spoil were scatter'd here. 

The lake too like a garden breathes. 

With the rich buds that o'er it lie, — 
As if a shower of fairy wreaths 

Had fallen upon it from the sky ! 
And then the sounds of joy, — the beat 
Of tabors and of dancing feet ; — 
The minaret-crier's chant of glee 



260 LALLA ROOKH. 

Sung from his lighted gallery, 

And answer'd by a ziraleet 

From neighbouring haram, wild and sweet ; — 

The merry laughter, echoing 

From gardens where the silken swing 

Wafts some delighted girl above 

The top leaves of the orange grove ; 

Or from those infant groups that play 

Among the tents that line the way, 

Flinging, unawed by slave or mother, 

Handfuls of roses at each other ! — 
And the sounds from the Lake, — the low whisp'ring 
in boats, 

As they shoot through the moonlight ; — the dip- 
ping of oars, 
And the wild, airy warbling that everywhere floats, 

Through the groves round the islands, as if all the 
shores. 
Like those of Kathay, utter'd music, and gave 
An answer in song to the kiss of each wave ! 
But the gentlest of all are those sounds, full of feeling, 
That soft from the lute of some lover are stealing, — 
Some lover who knows all the heart-touching power 
Of a lute and a sigh in this magical hour. 
Oh ! best of delights as it everywhere is 
To be near the loved One, — what a rapture is his 
Who in moonlight and music thus sweetly may glide 
O'er the Lake of Cashmere with that One by his side ! 
If woman can make the worst wilderness dear. 
Think, think what a heaven she must make of Cash- 
mere ! 



LALLA ROOKH. 261 

So felt the magnificent Son of Acbar, 
When from power and pomp and the trophies of war 
He flew to that Valley, forgetting them all 
With the Light of the Haram, his young Nourmahal ; 
When free and uncrown'd as the conqueror roved 
By the banks of that Lake with his only beloved, 
He saw, in the wreaths she would playfully snatch 
From the hedges, a glory his crown could not match, 
And preferr'd in his heart the dear ringlet that curl'd 
Down her exquisite neck, to the throne of the world ! 
There's the beauty, for ever unchangingly bright. 
Like a long sunny lapse of a summer day's light, 
Shining on, shining on, by no shadow made tender. 
Till love falls asleep in the sameness of splendour : 
This 7vas not the beauty — oh ! nothing like this, 
That to young Nourmahal gave such magic of bliss ; 
But that loveliness, ever in motion, which plays 
Like the light upon autumn's soft shadowy days. 
Now here and now there, giving warmth as it flies 
From the lips to the cheek, from the cheek to the eyes. 
Now melting in mist and now breaking in gleams, 
Like the glimpses a saint has of heaven in his dreams ! 
When pensive, it seem'd as if that very grace. 
That charm of all others, was born with her face ; 
And when angry, — for e'en in the tranquillest climes 
Light breezes will ruffle the flowers sometimes, — 
The short, passing anger but seem'd to awaken 
New beauty, like flowers that are sweetest when 

shaken. 
If tenderness touch'd her, the dark of her eye 
At once took a darker, a heavenlier dye. 



262 LALLA ROOKH. 

From the depth of whose shadow, Hke holy revealings 
From innermost shrines, came the light of her feelings \ 
Then her mirth — oh ! 'twas sportive as ever took 

wing 
From the heart with a burst, like the wild bird in 

spring ; — 
Illumed by a wit that would fascinate sages, 
Yet playful as Peris just loosed from their cages. 
While her laugh, full of life, without any control 
But the sweet one of gracefulness, rung from her soul ; 
And where it most sparkled no glance could discover, 
In lip, cheek, or eyes, for she brighten'd all over, — 
Like any fair lake that the breeze is upon, 
When it breaks into dimples and laughs in the sun. 
Such, such were the peerless enchantments that gave 
Nourmahal the proud Lord of the East for her slave ; 
And though bright was his haram, — a living parterre 
Of the flowers of this planet, — though treasures were 

there. 
For which Soliman's self might have given all the 

store 
That the navy from Ophir e'er wing'd to his shore, — 
Yet dim before /ler were the smiles of them all, 
And the Light of his Haram was young Nourmahal 1 

But where is she now, this night of joy, 
When bliss is every heart's employ ? 

When all around her is so bright. 
So like the visions of a trance. 
That one might think, who came by chance 

Into the Vale this happy night. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



263 




^^^i^^r "■'^**' 



He saw that City of 
Delight 
In Fairy-land, whose 

streets and towers 
Are made of gems and 
light and flowers ! 
Where is the loved Sul- 
tana ? where, 
When mirth brings out 
the young and fair, 
Does she, the fairest, 

hide her brow, 
In melancholy stillness 

now ? 
Alas, how light a cause 

may move 
Dissension between 
hearts that love ! 




264 LALLA ROOKH. 

Hearts that the world in vain had tied, 

And sorrow but more closely tried ; 

That stood the storm, when waves were rough. 

Yet in a sunny hour fall off. 

Like ships that have gone down at sea. 

When heaven was all tranquillity ! 

A something, hght as air, — a look, 

A word unkind or wrongly taken, — 
Oh ! love, that tempests never shook, 

A breath, a touch, like this hath shaken. 
And ruder words will soon rush in 
To spread the breach that words begin ; 
And eyes forget the gentle ray 
They wore in courtship's smiling day ; 
And voices lose their tone that shed 
A tenderness round all they said, 
Till fast declining, one by one, 
The sweetnesses of love are gone. 
And hearts so lately mingled seem 
Like broken clouds, — or like the stream 
That smiling left the mountain's brow. 

As though its waters ne'er could sever, 
Yet, ere it reach the plain below. 

Breaks into floods that part for ever. 

O you that have the charge of Love, 
Keep him in rosy bondage bound. 

As in the fields of Bliss above 

He sits, with flowerets fetter'd round : 

Loose not a tie that round him clings, 

Nor ever let him use his wings ; 



LALLA ROOKH. 



265 



f^' 



»-^ 



(K.'/l 



For even an hour, a min- 
ute's flight, 

Will rob the plumes of 
half their light. 

Like that celestial bird — 
whose nest 
Is found beneath far, 
eastern skies — 

Whose wings, though ra- 
diant when at rest. 
Lose all the glory when 
he flies ! 

Some difference, of this 
dangerous kind, — 
By which, though light, the 
;| links that bind 



t 



k 



li\ 



f rr 



^^^ 



~M 



.„.,._^~~tr?V^V'; 



266 LALLA ROOKH. 

The fondest hearts may soon be riven ; 

Some shadow in love's summer heaven, 

Which, though a fleecy speck at first, 

May yet in awful thunder burst ; — 

Such cloud it is, that hangs over 

The heart of the imperial lover, 

And far hath banish'd from his sight 

His Nourmahal, his Haram's Light ! 

Hence is it, on this happy night. 

When Pleasure through the fields and groves 

Has let loose all her world of loves. 

And every heart has found its own, — 

He wanders joyless and alone, 

And weary as that bird of Thrace, 

Whose pinion knows no resting-place. 

In vain the loveliest cheeks and eyes 

This Eden of the earth supplies 

Come crowding round, — the cheeks are pale, 
The eyes are dim ; though rich the spot 
With every flower this earth has got, 

What is it to the nightingale. 
If there his darling rose is not ? 
In vain the Valley's smiling throng 
Worship him, as he moves along ; 
He heeds them not, ■ — one smile of hers 
Is worth a world of worshippers. 
They but the star's adorers are. 
She is the heaven that lights the star ! 

Hence is it too that Nourmahal, 
Amid the luxuries of this hour, 



LALLA ROOKH. 267 



Far from the joyous festival, 

Sits in her own sequester'd bower, 
With no one near, to soothe or aid, 
But that inspired and wondrous maid, 
Namouna, the enchantress, — one, 
O'er whom his race the golden sun 
For unremember'd years has run. 
Yet never saw her blooming brow 
Younger or fairer than 'tis now. 
Nay, rather, as the west-wind's sigh 
Freshens the Hower it passes by. 
Time's wing but seem'd, in stealing o'er, 
To leave her lovelier than before. 
Yet on her smiles a sadness hung, 
And when, as oft, she spoke or sung 
Of other worlds, there came a light 
From her dark eyes so strangely bright. 
That all believed nor man nor earth 
Were conscious of Namouna's birth ! 

All spells and talismans she knew. 

From the great Mantra, which around 
The Air's sublimer spirits drew, 

To the gold gems of Afric, bound 
Upon the wandering Arab's arm, 
To keep him from the Siltim's harm. 
And she had pledged her powerful art. 
Pledged it with all the zeal and heart 
Of one who knew, though high her 

sphere. 
What 'twas to lose a love so dear, 



268 



LALLA ROOKH. 







To find some spell that should recall 
Her SeUm's smile to Nourmahal ! 

'Twas midnight, — through the lat- 
tice, wreathed 
With woodbine, many a perfume 

breathed 
From plants that wake when others 

sleep, — 
From timid jasmine buds, that keep 
Their odour to themselves all day. 
But, when the sunlight dies away. 
Let the delicious secret out 
To every breeze that roams about ; — 
When thus Namouna : " 'Tis the hour 



LALLA ROOKH. 



269 








hat scatters spells on i-^^^^^MH 
herb and flower, wSfW^ ^ 

And garlands might be gather'd j 

That, twined around the sleep- ■ 

er's brow, 

Would make him dream of such delights, 
Such miracles and dazzling sights. 
As Genii of the Sun behold, 
At evening, from their tents of gold. 
Upon th' horizon, — where they play 
Till twilight comes, and, ray by ray. 
Their sunny mansions melt . r-^'^, 

away ! j^ 

Now, too, a chaplet might be . ' a ^ 

wreathed !' ♦ 

Of buds o'er which the moon 

has breathed, 
Which worn by her, whose 
love has stray'd, 
Might bring some Peri from the skies. 



\ 



270 LALLA ROOKH. 

Some sprite, whose very soul is made 

Of flowerets' breaths and lovers' sighs, 
And who might tell — " 

" For me, for me," 
Cried Nourmahal impatiently, — 
" Oh ! twine that wreath for me to-night ! " 
Then rapidly, with foot as light 
As the young musk-roe's, out she flew 
To cull each shining leaf that grew 
Beneath the moonlight's hallowing beams 
For this enchanted Wreath of Dreams. 
Anemones and Seas of Gold, 

And new-blown lilies of the river, 
And those sweet flowerets, that unfold 

Their buds on Camadeva's quiver; 
The tuberose, with her silvery light, 

That in the gardens of Malay 
Is call'd the mistress of the Night, 
So like a bride, scented and bright. 

She comes out when the sun's away, 
Amaranths, such as crown the maids 
That wander through Zamara's shades ; 
And the white moon-flower, as it shows 
On Serendib's high crags to those 
Who near the isle at evening sail, 
Scenting her clove-trees in the gale ; — 
In short, all flowerets and all plants. 

From the divine Amrita tree. 
That blesses heaven's inhabitants 

With fruits of immortality, 
Down to the bazil tuft, that waves 



LALLA ROOKH. 2/1 

Its fragrant blossom over graves, 

And to the humble rosemary, 
Whose sweets so thanklessly are shed 
To scent the desert and the dead, — 
All in that garden bloom, and all 
Are gather'd by young Nourmahal, 
Who heaps her baskets with the flowers 

And leaves, till they can hold no more ; 
Then to Namouna flies, and showers 

Upon her lap the shining store. 

With what delight th' Enchantress views 

So many buds, bathed with the dews 

And beams of that bless'd hour ! — her glance 
Spoke something, past all mortal pleasures. 

As, in a kind of holy trance. 

She hung above those fragrant treasures, 
Bending to drink their balmy airs, 

As if she mix'd her soul with theirs. 
And 'twas, indeed, the perfume shed 
From flowers and scented flame that fed 
Her charmed life, — for none had e'er 
Beheld her taste of mortal fare, 
Nor ever in aught earthly dip. 
But the morn's dew, her roseate lip. 
Fill'd with the cool, inspiring smell, 
Th' Eachantress now begins her spell, 
Thus singing, as she winds and weaves 
In mystic form the glittering leaves : 

J know where the winged visions dwell 
That around the night-bed play ; 



272 LALLA ROOKH. 

I know each herb and floweret's bell, 
Where they hide their wings by day. 

Then hasten we, maid, 

To twine our braid, 
To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fade. 

The image of love that nightly flies 

To visit the bashful maid, 
Steals from the jasmine flower, that sighs 

Its soul, like her, in the shade. 
The hope, in dreams, of a happier hour 

That alights on misery's brow. 
Springs out of the silvery almond-flower 

That blooms on a leafless bough. 
Then hasten we, maid. 
To twine our braid. 
To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fade. 

The visions that oft to worldly eyes 

The glitter of mines unfold. 
Inhabit the mountain-herb, that dyes 

The tooth of the fawn like gold. 
The phantom shapes — oh, touch not them — 

That appall the murderer's sight, 
Lurk in the fleshly mandrake's stem. 

That shrieks, when torn at night ! 
Then hasten we, maid. 
To twine our braid. 
To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fade. 

The dream of the injured patient mind. 
That smiles at the wrongs of men. 



LALLA ROOKH. 

Is found in the bruised and wounded rind 
Of the cinnamon, sweetest then ! 
Then hasten we, maid, 
To twine our braid, 
To-morrow the dreams and flowers 
will fade. 



273 



No sooner was the flowery crown 
Placed on her head, then sleep came 

down, 
Gently as nights of summer fall, 
Upon the lids of Nourmahal ; 
And suddenly a tuneful breeze, 
As full of small rich harmonies 
As ever wind that o'er the tents 
Of Azab blew, was full of scents, 
Steals on her ear, and floats and 
swells. 
Like the first air of morning 
creeping 
Into those wTeathy, Red- 
Sea shells, 




■i^r^^^^^^^sF 



274 LALLA ROOKH. 

Where Love himself, of old, lay sleeping •, 
And now a spirit form'd, 'twould seem, 

Of music and of light, so fair. 
So brilliantly his features beam, 

And such a sound is in the air 
Of sweetness, when he waves his wings, 
Hovers around her, and thus sings : 

From Chindara's warbling fount I come, 

Call'd by that moonlight garland's spell ; 
From Chindara's fount, my fairy home, 

Where in music, morn and night, I dwell. 
Where lutes in the air are heard about. 

And voices are singing the whole day long, 
And every sigh the heart breathes out 
Is turn'd, as it leaves the lips, to song ! 
Hither I come 
From my fairy home ; 
And if there's a magic in music strain, 
I swear by the breath 
Of that moonlight wreath, 
Thy lover shall sigh at thy feet again ! 

For mine is the lay that lightly floats. 
And mine are the murmuring, dying notes, 
That fall as soft as snow on the sea. 
And melt in the heart as instantly ! 

And the passionate strain that, deeply going, 
Refines the bosom it trembles through. 

As the musk-wind, over the water blowing, 
Ruffles the waves, but sweetens it too ! 



LALLA ROOKH. 275 

Mine is the charm whose mystic sway 
The Spirits of past DeUght obey ; 
Let but the tuneful taUsman sound, 
And they come, like Genii, hovering round. 

And mine is the gentle song that bears 
From soul to soul the wishes of love, 

As a bird that wafts through genial airs 
The cinnamon seed from grove to grove. 

'Tis I that mingle in one sweet measure 
The past, the present, and future of pleasure ; 
When memory links the tone that is gone 

With the blissful tone that's still in the ear, 
And hope from a heavenly note flies on 

To a note more heavenly still that is near ! 

The warrior's heart, when touch'd by me, 
Can as downy soft and as yielding be 
As his own white plume, that high amid death 
Through the field has shone, yet moves with a 
breath. 

And, oh, how the eyes of beauty glisten. 

When music has reach'd her inmost soul, 
Like the silent stars, that wink and listen 
While heaven's eternal melodies roll ! 

So hither I come 

From my fairy home. 
And if there's a magic in music strain, 

I swear by the breath 

Of that moonlight wreath. 
Thy lover shall sigh at thy feet again. 



2/6 LALLA ROOKH. 

'Tis dawn, — at least that earlier dawn 
Whose glimpses are again withdrawn, 
As if the morn had waked, and then 
Shut close her lids of light again. 

And Nourmahal is up, and trying 

The wonders of her lute, whose strings — 

Oh, bUss ! — now murmur like the sighing 
From that ambrosial spirit's wings ! 

And then, her voice, — 'tis more than human, — 
Never, till now, had it been given 

To lips of any mortal woman 

To utter notes so fresh from heaven ; 

Sweet as the breath of angel sighs. 

When angel sighs are most divine, — 
" Oh ! let it last till night," she cries, 

" And he is more than ever mine." 
And hourly she renews the lay, 

So fearful lest its heavenly sweetness 
Should, ere the evening, fade away, — 

For things so heavenly have such fleetnessl 
But, far from fading, it but grows 
Richer, diviner, as it flows ; 
Till rapt she dwells on every string. 

And pours again each sound along, 
Like Echo, lost and languishing 

In love with her own wondrous song. 

That evening (trusting that his soul 
Might be from haunting love released 



LALLA ROOKH. 



277 





■-^SICT*- 



By birth, by music, and 
the bowl) 
rh' imperial Selim held a feast 
In his magnificent Shalimar ; 
In whose saloons, when the first star 
Of evening o'er the waters trembled, 
The Valley's loveliest all assembled, — 
All the bright creatures that, like dreams, 
Glide through its foliage, and drink beams 
Of beauty from its founts and streams ; 
And all those wandering minstrel-maids 
Who leave — how can they leave ?— the shades 
Of that dear Valley, and are found 

Singing in gardens of the south 
Those songs, that ne'er so sweetly sound 
As from a young Cashmerian's 
mouth. 




27^ 



LALLA ROOKH. 



There too the haram's inmates smile ; — 

Maids from the west, with sun-bright hair, 
And from the Garden of the Nile, 

Delicate as the roses there ; 
Daughters of Love from Cyprus' rocks, 
With Paphian diamonds in their locks ; 
Light Peri forms, such as there are 
On the gold meads of Candahar ; 
And they before whose sleepy eyes. 

In their own bright Kathaian bowers, 
Sparkle such rainbow butterflies, 

That they might fancy the rich flowers 
That round them in the sun lay sighing, 
Had been by magic all set flying ! 
Everything young, everything fair, 
From east and west is blushing there, 
Except — except — O Nourmahal ! 
Thou loveliest, dearest of them all, 
The one whose smile shone out alone. 
Amidst a world the only one ! 
Whose light, among so many lights. 
Was like that star, on starry nights, 




LALLA ROOKH. 



279 








singles from 
the sky, 
To steer his bark 

for ever by ! ' 

Thou wert not 

there — so Selim thought. 
And everything seem'd drear 
without thee ; 
But ah ! thou wert, thou wert, — 
and brought 
Thy charm of song all fresh 
about thee. 
Mingling unnoticed with a band 
Of lutanists from many a land, 
And veil'd by such a mask as 

shades 
The features of young Arab 

maids, — 
A mask that leaves but one eye 

free, 
To do its best in witchery, — 
She roved, with beating heart, around, 

And waited, trembling, for the minute 
When she might try if still the sound 
Of her loved lute had magic in it. 



28o LALLA ROOKH. 

The board was spread with fruits and wine, 
With grapes of gold, like those that shine 
On Casbin's hills ; — pomegranates full 

Of melting sweetness, and the pears 
And sunniest apples that Caubul 

In all its thousand gardens bears ; 
Plantains, the golden and the green, 
Malaya's nectar'd mangusteen ; 
Prunes of Bokara, and sweet nuts 

From the far groves of Samarcand, 
And Basra dates, and apricots, 

Seed of the sun, from Iran's land ; — 
With rich conserve of Visna cherries, 
Of orange flowers, and of those berries 
That, wild and fresh, the young gazelles 
Feed on in Erac's rocky dells. 
All these in richest vases smile, 

In baskets of pure santal-wood 
And urns of porcelain from that isle 

Sunk underneath the Indian flood, 
Whence oft the lucky diver brings 
Vases to grace the halls of kings. 
Wines too, of every clime and hue, 
Around their liquid lustre threw: 
Amber Rosolli, ■ — the bright dew 
From vineyards of the Green Sea gushing ; 
And Shiraz wine, that richly ran 

As if that jewel, large and rare. 
The ruby, for which Kublai-Khan 
Offer'd a city's wealth, was blushing 

Melted within the goblets there ! 



LALLA ROOKH. 281 

And amply Selim quaffs of each, 

And seems resolved the floods shall reach 

His inward heart, — shedding around 

A genial deluge, as they run. 
That soon shall leave no spot undrown'd, 

P^or Love to rest his wings upon. 
He little knew how blest the boy 

Can float upon a goblet's streams, 
Lighting them with his smile of joy ; — 

As bards have seen him, in their dreams, 
Down the blue Ganges laughing glide 

LTpon a rosy lotus wTeath, 
Catching new lustre from the tide 

That with his image shone beneath. 
But what are cups without the aid 

Of song to speed them as they flow ? 
And see — a lovely Georgian maid. 

With all the bloom, the freshen'd glow, 
Of her own country maidens' looks, 
When warm they rise from Teflis' brooks; 
And with an eye whose restless ray, 

Full, floating, dark, — oh, he who knows 
His heart is weak, of heaven should pray 

To guard him from such eyes as those ! — 
With a voluptuous wildness flings 
Her snowy hand across the strings 
Of a syrinda, and thus sings; 

Come hither, come hither, — by night and by day. 

We linger in pleasures that never are gone ; 
Like the waves of the summer, as one dies away, 



282 



LALLA ROOKH. 



Another as sweet and as 
shining comes on. 
''^ And the love that is o er, in ex- 




piring, gives birth 
To a new one as warm, as un- 
equall'd in bUss ; 
And, oh ! if there be an elysium 
on earth. 

It is this, it is this. 



Here maidens are sighing, and 
fragrant their sigh 
As the flower of the Amra just oped 
by a bee ; 
And precious their tears as that rain 
from the sky 




'/^ 




LALLA ROOKH. 283 

Which turns into pearls as it falls in the sea. 
Oh ! think what the kiss and the smile must be worth, 

When the sigh and the tear are so perfect in bliss ; 
And own if there be an elysium on earth, 
It is this, it is this ! 

Here sparkles the nectar that, hallow'd by love, 

Could draw down those angels of old from their 
sphere. 
Who for wine of this earth left the fountains above, 
And forgot heaven's stars for the eyes we have 
here. 
And, bless'd with the odour our goblet gives forth. 
What spirit the sweets of his Eden would miss ? 
Tor, oh ! if there be an elysium on earth. 
It is this, it is this ! 

The Georgian's song was scarcely mute, 

When the same measure, sound for sound, 
Was caught up by another lute, 

And so divinely breathed around. 
That all stood hush'd and wondering, 

And turn'd and look'd into the air. 
As if they thought to see the wing 

Of Israfil, the Angel, there ; — 
So powerfully on every soul 
That new, enchanted measure stole. 
While now a voice, sweet as the note 
■Of the charm'd lute, was heard to float 
Along its chords, and so entwine 

Its sound with theirs, that none knew whether 



284 LALLA ROOKH. 

The voice or lute was most divine, 
So wondrously they went together : 

There's a bUss beyond all that the minstrel has told, 
When two, that are link'd in one heavenly tie, 

With heart never changing and brow never cold, 
Love on through all ills, and love on till they die ! 

One hour of a passion so sacred is worth 

Whole ages of heartless and wandering bliss ; 

And, oh ! if there be an elysium on earth, 
It is this, it is this ! 

'Twas not the air, 'twas not the words, 
But that deep magic in the chords 
And in the lips, that gave such power 
As music knew not till that nour. 
At once a hundred voices said, 
" It is the mask'd Arabian maid ! " 
While Selim, who had felt the strain 
Deepest of any, and had lain 
Some minutes rapt, as in a trance. 

After the fairy sounds were o'er, 
Too inly touch 'd for utterance, 

Now motion'd with his hand for more : 

Fly to the desert, fiy with me ! 

Our Arab tents are rude for thee ; 

But, oh ! the choice what heart can doubt 

Of tents with love, or thrones without ? 

Our rocks are rough, but smiling there 
Th' acacia waves her yellow hair. 



LALLA ROOKH. 285 

Lonely and sweet, nor loved the less 
For flowering in a wilderness. 

Our sands are bare, but down their slope 
The silvery-footed antelope 
As gracefully and gayly springs 
As o'er the marble courts of kings. 

Then come — thy Arab maid will be 
The loved and lone acacia-tree, 
The antelope, whose feet shall bless 
With their light sound thy loneliness. 

Oh ! there are looks and tones that dart 
An instant sunshine through the heart, — 
As if the soul that minute caught 
Some treasure it through life had sought ; 

As if the very lips and eyes 
Predestined to have all our sighs, 
And never be forgot again, 
Sparkled and spoke before us then. 

So came thy every glance and tone, 
When first on me they breathed and shone 
New as if brought from other spheres. 
Yet welcomed as if loved for years ! 

Then fly with me, — if thou hast known 
No other flame, nor falsely thrown 
A gem away, that thou hadst sworn 
Should ever in thy heart be worn. 



2S6 LALLA ROOKH. 

Come, if the love thou hast for me 
Is pure and fresh as mine for thee, — 
Fresh as the fountain underground. 
When first 'tis by the lapwing found. 

But if for me thou dost forsake 
Some other maid, and rudely break 
Her worshipp'd image from its base, 
To give to me the ruin'd place, — 

Then fare thee well — I'd rather make 
My bower upon some icy lake 
When thawing suns begin to shine, 
Than trust to love so false as thine ! 

There was a pathos in this lay, 

That, e'en without enchantment's art, 
Would instantly have found its way 

Deep into Selim's burning heart ; 
But breathing, as it did, a tone 
To earthly lutes and lips unknown, 
With every chord fresh from the touch 
Of Music's spirit, — 'twas too much ! 
Starting, he dash'd away the cup, — 
Which, all the time of this sweet air. 
His hand had held, untasted, up. 

As if 'twere fix'd by magic there, — 
And naming her, so long unnamed, 
So long unseen, wildly exclaim'd, 
•*' O Nourmahal ! O Nourmahal ! 

Hadst thou but sung this witching strain, 



LALLA ROOKH. 




288 LALLA ROOKH. 

For having lost its light awhile ; 
And, happier now for all her sighs 

As on his arm her head reposes, 
She whispers him, with laughing eyes, 

" Remember, love, the Feast of Roses ! " 

Fadladeen, at the conclusion of this light rhapsody, 
took occasion to sum up his opinion of the young 
Cashmerian's poetry, — of which, he trusted, they had 
that evening heard the last. Having recapitulated the 
epithets, " frivolous," " inharmonious," " nonsensical," 
he proceeded to say that, viewing it in the most favour- 
able light, it resembled one of those Maldivian boats to 
which the Princess had alluded in the relation of her 
dream, — a slight, gilded thing, sent adrift without 
rudder or ballast, and with nothing but vapid sweets 
and faded flowers on board. The profusion, indeed, of 
flowers and birds which this Poet had ready on all 
occasions — not to mention dews, gems etc., — v/as a 
most oppressive kind of opulence to his hearers, and 
had the unlucky effect of giving to his style all the 
glitter of the flower-garden without its method, and all 
the flutter of the aviary without its song. In addition 
to this, he chose his subjects badly, and was always 
most inspired by the worst parts of them. The charms 
of paganism, the merits of rebellion, — these were the 
themes honoured with his particular enthusiasm ; and, 
in the poem just recited, one of his most palatable 
passages was in praise of that beverage of the Unfaith- 
ful, wine, - — " being, perhaps," said he, relaxing into 
a smile, as conscious of his own character in the haram 



LALLA ROOKH. 289 

on this point, " one of those bards whose fancy owes 
all its illumination to the grape, like that painted porce- 
lain, so curious and so rare, whose images are only 
visible when liquor is poured into it." Upon the 
whole, it was his opinion, from the specimens which 
they had heard, and which, he begged to say, were 
the most tiresome part of the journey, that, whatever 
other merits this well-dressed young gentleman might 
possess, poetry was by no means his proper avocation ; 
*' and indeed," concluded the critic, " from his fondness 
for flowers and for birds, I would venture to suggest 
that a florist or a bird-catcher is a much more suitable 
calling for him than a poet." 

They had now begun to ascend those barren moun- 
tains which separate Cashmere from the rest of India ; 
and as the heats w^ere intolerable, and the time of their 
encampment limited to the few hours necessary for 
refreshment and repose, there was an end to all their 
delightful evenings, and Lalla Rookh saw no more of 
Feramorz. She now felt that her short dream of happi- 
ness was over, and that she had nothing but the recol- 
lection of its few blissful hours, like the one draught of 
sweet water that serves the camel across the wilderness, 
to be her heart's refreshment during the dreary waste 
of life that w^as before her. The blight that had fallen 
upon her spirit soon found its way to her cheek, and 
her ladies saw with regret — though not without some 
suspicion of the cause — that the beauty of their mis- 
tress, of which they were almost as proud as of their 
own, was fast vanishing away at the very moment 
of all when she had most need of it. What must the 



290 



LALLA ROOKH. 




King of 
Bucharia feel, 
when, instead of 
the lively and beau- 
tiful Lalla Rookh, 
whom the Poets 
of Delhi had de- 
scribed as more 
perfect than the 
divinest images in 
the House of Azor, 
he should re- 
; ceive a pale 



JFha'sePv ^ 



LALLA ROOKH. 291 

and inanimate victim, upon whose cheek neither health 
nor pleasure bloomed, and from whose eyes Love had 
fled, — to hide himself in her heart ! 

If anything could have charmed away the melan- 
choly of her spirits, it would have been the fresh airs 
and enchanting scenery of that Valley, which the Per- 
sians so justly called the Unequalled. But neither the 
coolness of its atmosphere, so luxurious after toiling up 
those bare and burning mountains ; neither the splen- 
dour of the minarets and pagodas, that shone out from 
the depth of its woods, nor the grottos, hermitages, and 
miraculous fountains which make every spot of that 
region holy ground ; neither the countless waterfalls, 
that rush into the Valley from all those high and 
romantic mountains that encircle it, nor the fair city 
on the Lake, whose houses, roofed with flowers, ap- 
peared at a distance like one vast and variegated par- 
terre ; — not all these wonders and glories of the most 
lovely country under the sun could steal her heart for 
a minute from those sad thoughts, which but darkened 
and grew bitterer every step she advanced. 

The gay pomps and processions that met her 
upon her entrance into the Valley, and the magnifi- 
cence with which the roads all along were decorated, 
did honour to the taste and gallantry of the young 
King. It was night when they approached the city ; 
and for the last two miles they had passed under 
arches, thrown from hedge to hedge, festooned with 
only those rarest roses from which the Attar Gul, 
more precious than gold, is distilled, and illuminated 
in rich and fanciful forms with lanterns of the triple- 



292 



LALLA ROOKH. 




LALLA ROOKH. 293 

fireworks would break out so sudden and so brilliant, 
that a Brahmin might think he saw that grove in 
whose purple shade the God of Battles was born, 
bursting into a liame at the moment of his birth ; 
while, at other times, a quick and playful irradiation 
continued to brighten all the fields and gardens by 
which they passed, forming a line of dancing lights 
along the horizon, like the meteors of the north as 
they are seen by those hunters who pursue the white 
and blue foxes on the confines of the Icy Sea. 

These arches and fireworks delighted the ladies of 
the Princess exceedingly ; and, with their usual good 
logic, they deduced from his taste for illuminations 
that the King of Bucharia would make the most 
exemplary husband imaginable. Nor, indeed, could 
Lalla Rookh herself help feeling the kindness and 
splendour with which the young bridegroom welcomed 
her; but she also felt how painful is the gratitude 
which kindness from those we cannot love excites, 
and that their best blandishments come over the 
heart with all that chilling and deadly sweetness 
which we can fancy in the cold, odoriferous wind 
that is to blow over this earth in the last day. 

The marriage was fixed for the morning after her 
arrival, when she was, for the first time, to be pre- 
sented to the monarch in that imperial palace be- 
yond the Lake, called the Shalimar. Though a 
night of more wakeful and anxious thought had 
never been passed in the Happy Valley before, yet 
when she rose in the morning and her ladies came 
round her, to assist in the adjustment of the bridal 



294 LALLA ROOKH. 

ornaments, they thought they had never seen her 
look half so beautiful. What she had lost of the 
bloom and radiancy of her charms was more than 
made up by that intellectual expression, that soul in 
the eyes, which is worth all the rest of loveliness. 
When they had tinged her fingers with the henna leaf, 
and placed upon her brow a small coronet of jewels, 
of the shape worn by the ancient Queens of Bucharia, 
they flung over her head the rose-coloured bridal veil, 
and she proceeded to the barge that was to convey 
her across the Lake ; — first kissing, with a mournful 
look, the little amulet of cornelian which her father 
had hung about her neck at parting. 

The morning was as fair as the maid upon whose 
nuptials it rose ; and the shining Lake, all covered 
with boats, the minstrels playing upon the shores of 
the islands, and the crowded summer-houses on the 
green hills around, with shawls and banners waving 
from their roofs, presented such a picture of animated 
rejoicing, as only she, who was the object of it all, 
did not feel with transport. To Lalla Rookh alone 
it was a melancholy pageant ; nor could she have 
even borne to look upon the scene, were it not for a 
hope that, among the crowds around, she might once 
more perhaps catch a glimpse of Feramorz. So 
much w^as her imagination haunted by this thought 
that there was scarcely an islet or boat she passed, 
at which her heart did not flutter with a momentary 
fancy that he was there. Happy, in her eyes, the 
humblest slave upon whom the light of his dear looks 
fell! — In the barge immediately after the Princess 



LALLA ROOKH. 295 

was P adladeen, with his silken curtains thrown widely 
apart, that all might have the benefit of his august 
presence, and with his head full of the speech he was 
to deliver to the King, " concerning Feramorz, and 
literature, and the chabuk, as connected therewith." 

They had now entered the canal which leads from 
the Lake to the splendid domes and saloons of the 
Shalimar, and glided on through gardens ascending 
from each bank, full of flowering shrubs that made 
the air all perfume ; while from the middle of the 
canal rose jets of water, smooth and unbroken, to 
such a dazzling height, that they stood like pillars 
of diamond in the sunshine. After sailing under the 
arches of various saloons, they at length arrived at 
the last and most magnificent, where the monarch 
awaited the coming of his bride ; and such was the 
agitation of her heart and frame, that it was with dif- 
ficulty she walked up the marble steps, which were 
covered with cloth of gold for her ascent from the 
barge. At the end of the hall stood tw^o thrones, as 
precious as the Cerulean Throne of Koolburga, on 
one of which sat Aliris, the youthful King of Bucha- 
ria, and on the other was, in a few minutes, to be 
placed the most beautiful Princess in the world. 
Immediately upon the entrance of Lalla Rookh into 
the saloon, the monarch descended from his throne 
to meet her ; but scarcely had he time to take her 
hand in his, when she screamed with surprise and 
fainted at his feet. It was Feramorz himself that 
stood before her ! — Feramorz was himself the Sov- 
ereign of Bucharia, who in this disguise had accom- 



296 LALLA ROOKH. 

panied his young bride from Delhi, and, having won 
her love as an humble minstrel, now amply deserved 
to enjoy it as a king. 

The consternation of Fadladeen at this discovery 
was, for the moment, almost pitiable. But change 
of opinion is a resource too convenient in courts for 
this experienced courtier not to have learned to avail 
himself of it. His criticisms were all, of course, re- 
canted instantly; he was seized wdth an admiration 
of the King's verses, as unbounded as, he begged 
him to believe, it was disinterested ; and the follow- 
ing week saw him in possession of an additional 
place, swearing by all the saints of Islam that never 
had there existed so great a poet as the monarch, 
Aliris, and ready to prescribe his favourite regimen of 
the chabuk for every man, w^oman, and child that 
dared to think otherwise. 

Of the happiness of the King and Queen of Bu- 
charia, after such a beginning, there can be but little 
doubt ; and, among the lesser symptoms, it is recorded 
of Lalla Rookh, that to the day of her death, in mem- 
mory of their delightful journey, she never called the 
King by any other name than Feramorz. 




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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




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